Forget Me Not
by JediKnightCaraD
Summary: 'Sylvia' (Season 7) is another disturbing, depressing episode. What if Sylvia had not died? What if she had been found by her father? This picks up several years after the Season Finale in which Albert achieves one dream and rediscovers another. Rated T for safety (some thematic elements and disturbing character thoughts)
1. Prologue

Walnut Grove, Minnesota  
November, 1882

The skies were overcast and the wind holding its chill as five residents stood on the steps of Nellie's Restaurant on the second Saturday of the month. The single elderly gentleman would have much rather waited indoors for the stagecoach, but it was overdue and he did not want to miss his connection with the Eastbound train. The young married couple huddled against each other, oblivious to everything else. Meanwhile the tall, lanky, fifty year old gentleman in the heavy woolen coat stood slouched against the wall, standing apart from everyone else while his fourteen year old daughter sat on the bench, eyes pointed at the ground.

She knew why the others avoided her. She knew why people stopped, paused, and whispered to each other, clucking their tongues in either disgust or pity.

Most of all, Sylvia Webb knew that what she wanted most in the world at that point was to die.

Just over four months ago, she had been ambushed in the woods outside her house and raped. The brutal act had left her pregnant out of wedlock and drove her strict father Hector mad with rage. Her secret beau, Albert Ingalls, had nearly been killed at his hand.

She knew Albert was standing on the Plum Creek Bridge some hundred feet away, leaning on the rail with his hands shoved into his coat pockets. But she didn't want to speak to him. She didn't even want to look at him.

Albert had made a promise to her. They would run away together and be married...but then he broke his promise. He told her father where she was, and Hector took her home again. For a week, she had exhausted herself by crying her eyes out and eating little. And now, she and her father were leaving town, headed for far-away California.

Initially it was a move to avoid the truth. Hector told his daughter it was for her own good, that he was doing it so no one would look down on her. After having some sense literally knocked into him by Charles Ingalls, Hector was ready to change his mind, but there was no going back. Irv Hartwig, the buyer of the farm, would not sell it back. Gossip about Sylvia had spread far and wide thanks to the gaping maw of Harriet Olsen. Now neither she nor her father could go anywhere without the stares and whispers of others. It was best that they leave.

Sylvia wanted to leave. She hated the looks everyone gave her, she hated Mrs. Olsen for her mouth, and she hated Albert for breaking his promise. Her heart felt hollow, as if everything had been drained out of it. She was glad that it would be months before anyone else would notice the slight bulge of her abdomen, visible only to her when she changed or bathed. The dark thought if wishing a miscarriage haunted her every so often, as she wanted nothing to do with the child that grew within her. Sylvia had already made up her mind to give it up for adoption. She would not be a mother at 14...not alone. It was the one form of defiance she had left, and the girl clung to it for all she was worth.

The arrival of the stagecoach was announced by the galloping of horses and the swirl of dust that followed. The waiting passengers eagerly came to see it. All except Sylvia came forward as it ground to a halt and unloaded passengers and mail. She sat like a stone even after the other passengers began boarding. She didn't move one muscle until after her father came over and gently tugged her elbow. "Come along, now, Sylvie."

Sylvia nodded and rose without a word to follow her father. She let him help her walk up the steps and settled into the hard, uncomfortable seat. She didn't notice who came to stand outside the stagecoach until he spoke.

"Sylvia?" It was Albert, face strained with emotion. "I know you probably hate me...but I love you." He bit his lip when there was no response. "I'm gonna miss you. Maybe...maybe someday I could visit...if it's all right with your pa." Hopefully he looked at Hector.

"Maybe...after we're settled...but it'd be up to Sylvia," said the man, looking from Albert to his daughter. "California's awful far."

"Could I, Sylvia? Please?" His tone and face pleaded for her to listen.

Sylvia's lip wobbled and she closed her eyes. Hearing Albert's quiet voice always made her crumble. But still, she did not look at him. She knew the other stagecoach passengers were dutifully looking everywhere but the scandalous young couple and she didn't care. Anything was better than being stared at and whispered about.

"Won't you look at me?"

Sylvia turned her face away as the tears began coming. Half of her heart wanted to look at him one last time and say goodbye...but the bigger part never wanted to see him again. She gave a single shake of her head.

Albert's face fell and he let his arms drop from the stagecoach windowsill. "I'm sorry, Sylvia. I really do love you...I always will. Goodbye," he called in a heartbroken voice. Slowly the young man backed away. He kept his eyes on the stage until there was nothing left but a cloud of retreating dust. He heard, rather than saw, his adoptive father Charles Ingalls coming up from behind.

"You all right, son?" he asked quietly.

"No, Pa. I'm not all right," admitted Albert, wiping his eyes. "She just doesn't understand. I did it for her...now she hates me for it."

"Well, if she does, there's nothing you can do about it. You just gotta go on livin', that's all." Charles reached up and gave Albert's shoulder a squeeze. "Hey, you want to help me over at the mill for a minute?"

Albert shook his head. "No. I just wanna go home." With that, face twisting with emotion, he turned to walk off down the street. A boisterous voice called out from the steps of the restaurant, making him stop in his tracks.

"Well! Good riddance, I say!" sneered Mrs. Harriet Oleson, broom in hand. "Nothing but trouble."

Albert's blood boiled within him and he clenched his fists. That woman...he turned to look at her with a barely-contained scowl. "I hope you're happy with yourself."

Mrs. Oleson scoffed and took a step back. "Well, what are you griping about? None of this would have happened if you'd have kept away from that girl." She resumed her sweeping. "Don't blame me for it. Besides, there's plenty of other fish in the sea...more respectable ones, anyway."

Albert seethed. For a moment he considered swinging...but the teaching of his father to never hit a woman held fast. "The only good thing about her leaving is that she'll never have to deal with you again." And so, before Harriet even had a chance to be offended, Albert took off running down the road, making for home.

So they thought he was disrespectful, did they? The best way to get back at someone was to defy their expectations. He'd defy them, all right. He'd defy them by throwing every bit of energy he had into his studies to become a doctor.


	2. Home

Illinois and Iowa State Border  
June 1890

Countryside landscapes flew by at a dizzying pace as Engine 41 of the Chicago-Des Moines line steamed its way steadily West with a full load of freight, mail, and passengers. Excited children stared eagerly out the windows while their parents regarded the trip with mixtures of resignation and unease. For most passengers, travel by rail was still a novelty...and not necessarily safe.

Newspapers around the country were filled monthly with articles about another train crash. Journalists seemed to take grisly delight in documenting exactly how many people had been killed or injured. Some people vowed never to travel by train at all if they could help it. Others couldn't wait to try out this relatively new piece of transportation technology; if nothing else just to say they'd ridden a train.

For the young man sitting near the window in his worn but decent traveling suit and tie, it could have been just another trip. He had traveled by train over ten times in his twenty-two years and- especially after experiencing the headaches of delays, missed connections, and transferring a grand total of three times this trip alone -the novelty was wearing off. While he appreciated the shortened travel time across the country, Albert Quinn Ingalls would have been perfectly happy never to see another train in his life...though he knew with the path he had chosen in life, that was rather unlikely.

Albert tugged uncomfortably at his tie. He had never like formal clothing very much, but now saw it as kind of a necessary evil. After all, one couldn't very well be a doctor wearing farmer's work clothes.

 _Doctor Ingalls._ Albert smiled and shook his head absently. He still couldn't believe it. After he had gotten his diploma from the New York University College of Medicine, he had to look at it every so often to make sure these last six years had not been some kind of cruel dream. Now that diploma- frame and all -was carefully wrapped in a shirt in the middle of his suitcase.

It had not been an easy haul, to be sure. Most of his classmates had been sent to medical school by way of their parents' wealth. Charles and Caroline Ingalls were better off now financially in Burr Oak, Iowa than they had ever been in the country, but medical school was still an expense out of their reach.

So Albert had paid for his education himself. Working every job he could after school and on weekends for two long years, he had somehow managed to scrimp enough to pay for his first year of tuition and books. Once at college, Albert had worked five different jobs over the next five years, everything from freight hauling to sewer cleanup. No job was too low for him. Despite his ridiculous hours, a broken arm, a bout with pneumonia, and his professors' constant reminders that he was going to kill himself, Albert had graduated at the top of his class.

Now he was going home. Home, to Ma and Pa, whose pile of letters attested to their pride over his accomplishments. To Carrie, the tagalong kid sister who was now eighteen and off to college herself. She had won a writing scholarship and was going to be a journalist. To little Grace, who had grown from a precocious four year old to a shy and serious ten year old in the time Albert had been away. 'Baby' Grace was a baby no more.

Albert's heart held a momentary ache when he thought of his other sisters...Mary and her husband Adam, living the busy lives of lawyer and lawyer's wife in New York City. He had boarded with them once or twice. It was Laura he missed the most. She had been his confidant, his partner in crime, and his stern big sister all rolled into one. Now she, Almanzo, and little Rose were trying to scratch out a living in Dakota Territory. He had not heard from them since Christmas and hoped everything was going well. With Almanzo's permanent limp due to a stroke several years before, it was not easy for them, but they were grimly determined to make things work. If Laura's fiery stubbornness was any indication, they would.

The young man was interrupted in his reflections by the conductor walking the aisles. "State line! Now crossing Illinois-Iowa state line," he called, thumbs tucked into his vest pockets. "Running on time for 2 PM arrival, Des Moines. Next stop-"

Albert nodded in satisfaction and didn't bother listening to what the next stop was. Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, it wasn't yet noon. He had left Chicago at 10 AM that morning. Compared to every other trip he had taken by train, this would be the shortest at about four hours. He couldn't wait to get off that train.

A warm draught blew down the car, making Albert grimace. It certainly was shaping up to be a hot summer. The heat was almost strangling him. He glared at his suit. The blasted thing wasn't helping _. I've had it with that lousy tie,_ he thought, reaching up to untie it and unbutton his stiff collar. He followed up by removing his jacket and inching open the window at his side. He stopped midway and glanced at the three others by this window, who looked equally miserable. "Excuse me. Would anyone mind if I opened this window?"

The people- a middle-aged woman and her elderly parents, nodded in relief. "Go right ahead, young man. This car is stifling!" The elderly man loosened his own collar and took off his jacket. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as Albert opened the window. Cool air wafted in.

Albert smiled at everyone's expressions of relief. It was a wonderful feeling to help someone feel better, even if it was from something as minor as a breeze. His mood improved as he settled back into his seat.

The train, as it turned out, was actually several minutes late pulling into Des Moines, and the party waiting on the platform for a particular doctor could hardly stop pacing...at least, one of them could.

Charles Ingalls, his brown hair gone silver over the years, looked up wearily from the bench to regard his nervous wife. "Caroline, wearing a hole in the platform isn't going to make the train come any sooner," he remarked.

"Come sit down, Ma," invited Grace, using her straw hat to fan her face.

Caroline rubbed her arms anxiously and shook her head. "They said it was running on time," she said. "Five minutes late is hardly on time."

Charles pursed his lips and shrugged. "It's a train. Trains are always late. Come on and sit down."

Caroline sighed, regarded her family, and finally sat between her husband and daughter. "Oh, I know I'm acting foolish. I can't help it. Charles, our son is coming home today!"

Charles cracked a smile and took his wife's hand. "I know, darlin'. I miss him, too."

Grace turned to look at him, twin golden braids pinned around her head. "Pa? Is Albert a real doctor now?"

Charles chuckled at his youngest. "Why, sure he is. That's why he's been away at school so long. It takes a long time to learn to be a doctor."

"Does he cut people open and take out their insides?" Grace wanted to know with wide blue eyes.

"Grace!" scolded Caroline quietly. "Don't say such things."

"But Fannie Johnson said that's what doctors do," Grace protested, quite seriously. "She said they cut people open and take things out like tonsils and 'pendixes."

"That they do, Grace," agreed Charles, hiding his grin.

"But only when they need to," added Caroline. She disliked talk of operations and shuddered. "Most of the time, they set broken bones and help the ill feel better."

Grace nodded, accepting this explanation. Presently she turned to her mother. "Ma? What's a 'pendix?"

Caroline thought for a moment, then came up blank. "An appendix? I'm not really sure...I know it's something in a person's middle. From what I've heard they don't serve much of a purpose."

Charles tapped Grace's nose to get her attention. "Hey. Why don't you ask Albert when he gets here? He'll know."

"Okay, Pa." Grace settled back against the bench and was quiet. Generally speaking once she had a question answered, she wasn't much of a talker. Laura had always been the chatterbox of the family. Grace was more inclined to sit and watch rather than join in and could barely manage a polite smile around strangers.

A few minutes later the loud blowing of a train whistle made everyone rise and regard the approaching steam engine with relief. The Ingalls family waited expectantly on the platform. Almost before the train had come to a stop Caroline was searching the crowd for Albert. She clung anxiously to her husband, craning her neck.

"Where is he, Ma?" asked Grace.

"Hold on, he's coming," said Charles with a smile. He wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and could feel her tense in anticipation.

In minutes a dark-haired head appeared in the crowd. It was a young man, clutching a suitcase and black doctor's bag and searching the crowd himself.

"See? There he is." Charles let out a shrill whistle. "Albert!"

Albert's head snapped to attention hearing the whistle and suddenly spotted his family. Warmth filled his heart seeing his parents and sister waving frantically to him. A broad smile worked its way across his face and he broke into a quick walk, then a jog. The Ingalls family reunion was one of laughter, smiles, embraces, and a few tears, especially from Caroline.

When everyone had composed themselves, Caroline dabbed her eyes. "You must be famished after that long ride."

Albert shrugged. "A little." His growling stomach protested this gross understatement.

Charles slapped him on the shoulder, "Well, come on, then. You should see what your Ma's cooked up for you in the icebox."

Albert lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "You have an icebox?" Those were fairly recent inventions and very expensive luxuries.

Charles nodded proudly. "Yup. Built it myself."

Albert grinned. That was Pa, all right, building things that no one thought possible. "I can't wait to see it." He followed them out to the family buckboard.

"So when can we see your diploma?" asked Caroline.

"As soon as we get home." Albert sighed at speaking the word. _Home._ It was a place he had been away from for far too long.

"Albert?" said Grace after a long silence.

"Yes, Grace?" Albert turned to his little sister.

"What's a 'pendix?"


	3. Doctor Ingalls

Albert was in for a surprise when, waiting at home was not just a home-cooked meal but a graduation party his parents had thrown in his honor. In addition to his family- including Carrie, home for the summer -there were a few familiar faces from his boyhood home of Walnut Grove. Surprise and joy rose upon seeing Andrew Garvey, Willie and Rachel Oleson, and even Dr. Hiram Baker, among others. Adam and Mary Kendall were greeted with surprise and delight. The only ones missing, of course, were Laura and her family. But there was a heartfelt letter from them congratulating Albert on graduating at the top of his class and expressing regret at not being there.

The chilled supper of fried chicken, something called potato salad, peas, apple pie, and even ice cream was, of course, delicious. Grace had made the pie and blushed when the adults told her how good it was. For hours everyone ate, laughed, and spoke of old times.

The party was concluded by Albert showing off his diploma and Charles and Caroline presenting their son with a graduation gift. Albert was shocked upon opening the wooden box and finding a gold pocket watch. His shoulders fell and he closed the box regretfully. "Ma...Pa, I'm sorry. I can't accept this."

His parents looked crestfallen. "Hey, what's the matter, son?" Charles wanted to know.

"It must have cost a fortune," he whispered.

"Nonsense," said Charles with a frown. "Don't you worry about that. Everyone chipped in."

 _Everyone?_ Albert looked around the room at the smiling faces of his family and friends and felt a lump rise in his throat. "Why'd you go and do that?"

"We wanted to," put in Andrew, as if the answer was obvious.

"A doctor needs a watch...especially if he's going to be on time for his appointments," Dr. Baker pointed out. His hair was all but gone and he had retired the previous year, but other than that had changed little.

"Yes, but-"

"No buts. You've earned it, Dr. Ingalls."

Albert opened the box again and stared in wonder at the watch before meeting the eyes of everyone in the room. His own eyes were misty. "Thank you...everyone...dad-burn it." He wiped his eyes, only a little aggravated. Even as an adult, he had the leakiest eyes that side of the Mississippi.

Carrie grinned. "Well, let's see how it looks."

Albert nodded and carefully pulled out the watch. He stuck the hasp through one of his vest buttonholes, then slid the watch into the watch pocket.

The room applauded with approval over the choice, making Albert blush. "And now Adam is going to have to teach me to wind it," he said ruefully, glancing at his brother-in-law. He'd never owned or even handled a watch in his life, having been taught by Charles to tell time by the sun and stars. This comment was greeted with good-natured laughter. Albert pulled the watch from his pocket and turned to Mary, who was smiling but looked a little left out. "Here. Mary, do you want to see it?" He carefully put the watch into her hands.

Mary's smile grew and her sightless blue eyes shone as she ran her sensitive fingers over the watch. "Oh, it's beautiful." She held it up to her ear to listen to it tick before handing it back to Albert. "It must make you look quite distinguished."

Adam nodded. "He looks sharp. So Albert, where are you going to be practicing?"

Albert hunched his shoulders a bit and shrugged. "I haven't made up my mind yet...but I'm thinking somewhere out West. There's a lot of growing towns out there that need a doctor."

"How far West?" Adam wanted to know. "Uh, Colorado? California? China?"

Everyone chuckled while Mary playfully jabbed him with her elbow.

"I don't think _that_ far West," laughed Albert. "I don't speak Chinese. I could barely pronounce some of those Latin terms at college."

"Don't laugh. You may learn a little Chinese out West," remarked Charles. "Plenty of them on the coast, working on the railroad."

"I don't mind. Chinese, Spanish, Russian...anything, as long as I don't have to speak French," the doctor cringed. Willie laughed knowingly.

Caroline looked concerned with all the talk of far-away travel. "How far were you planning on going, Albert?"

Albert shrugged. "Like I said, I haven't made up my mind yet." He could see the worry in his mothers' eyes and smiled kindly. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere tomorrow, or even next week."

Caroline gave a strained smile. "Oh, I know. It's just that we've missed you so much, and the thought of you going away again...especially so far..."

"Well, I'm home now." Albert leaned over and kissed his mother on the cheek.

Andrew grinned. "Sounds like you're ready. All you need now is a wife, and you'll be all set." He winked at Hannah Partridge, his fiancée, who groaned.

Adam straightened his spine. "Oh, right. Meet anyone special back East, Albert?"

The smile froze on Albert's face. Romance had been the last thing on his mind during college. His dark hair and roguish eyes had played havoc on the young females hanging around the medical school, but every time they made eyes at him, he had to politely decline, no matter how sweet or pretty they were. His excuse in the past had been to focus on his education. With as busy as he was, he didn't have time for courting. Now that excuse was gone. He found himself looking around the room. Both of his older sisters were married. Andy was engaged. Willie had been married for almost five years. Even Carrie had a beau. Nothing was official, but going from Ma and Pa's letters, this fellow had come to dinner once or twice and they were favorably impressed. The only adults in the room who were unattached were Dr. Baker and himself.

An unexpected sense of loneliness assaulted Albert. For a split second his heart ached. The only girl he had ever truly loved was long gone...he shook his head to clear it and coughed. "Well...there aren't really any prospects at this point...and I don't even want to think about courting until I've established my practice."

Charles nodded with approval and clapped Albert on the shoulder. "Good man. Don't go lookin' till you can put a roof over her head."

"A toast!" cried Andrew, lifting his glass. "To Dr. Ingalls."

Everyone else raised their glasses in salute as well. "To Dr. Ingalls!" The glasses clinked against each other.

Albert, meanwhile, was left blushing like a schoolboy from all the attention.

The newly-minted Dr. Ingalls enjoyed his time at home with his family, but within a week was plagued with a case of itchy feet. _I'm an adult...a medical college graduate. I shouldn't be living at home anymore._ He loved his family, of course...but it didn't feel right. So, young Dr. Ingalls marched down to the newspaper office to see about getting copies of the Des Moines Register, the Chicago Tribune, the Boston Herald, and the New York Times. When towns out West were looking for a doctor, they usually put ads in the major newspapers back East, where all the medical graduates were.

A month later the papers were delivered and Charles and Caroline awakened to find their son studiously searching the 'Help Wanted' ads, pencil in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

"Goodness. Albert, how long have you been awake?" asked Caroline, squinting in the lamp light.

"About five," he answered easily, circling one ad and crossing out another.

"Five?" Charles shook his head in disbelief. It was nearly 6 am. "If you're going to be answerin' ads, the telegraph office doesn't open 'till eight-thirty."

"I wanted to pick which ads to answer before they opened," answered Albert. He sipped from the cup and made a face. His coffee didn't taste very good, but it sure woke him up. The potent caffeinated 'mud' had come in very handy during all-night crams for calculus, pharmacology, and anatomy exams.

"Well, sure. But can it really take you three hours to pick which ads to answer?" Charles wanted to know.

Albert gave a sheepish grin and a shrug. "You're the one who taught me to get up with the chickens."

Charles let out a tired chuckled and shoved his hands in his hip pockets. "That's right, I did. City life's makin' me soft. I oughta get back to the farm."

Caroline shot him a warning glance. "Charles...you said this was the last move. You promised."

The man sighed and nodded. "I know, I know. I'll keep it for you." He gave her a brief kiss before turning back to his son. "Anything promising yet?"

Albert picked up a little nickel notepad to check his list. "Let's see...two in Colorado, one in Dakota Territory, one in Reno, and about ten from California. And...counting," he added ruefully, indicating the two papers he still had to go through.

Caroline shuffled over in her slippers to peer at the papers. "Do they mention what sort of pay you could expect?"

Albert cringed. "None of them have so far."

Charles shrugged. "Well, son, with most country doctors, that's how it is. People pay what they can. Remember Doc Baker? He bartered half the time. You don't usually get a regular paycheck unless you work for a hospital."

"Oh, I'm not complaining," amended Albert quickly. "It doesn't make for a very easy decision, though."

"Well...good luck, son." Charles gave Albert a light slap on the shoulder and yawned. "Think I'll have some of that coffee." He went over to the stove and poured himself a cup.

"Careful. It's kind of-"

Charles took one sip and nearly choked.

"Strong."

"Strong? Son, you could stick a spoon in that stuff and it would stand straight up." Charles shook his head and dumped the 'mud' down the sink.

Albert hid his smile at his fathers' expression and went back to the newspapers.

After three full hours of searching ads, Albert had narrowed his choices down to five; one in Colorado Springs, Colorado, one in Reno, Nevada, and three in California; San Francisco, Sacramento, and a little place called Haywards. With all that remained of his college fund, he marched down to the telegraph office to answer the ads. In each telegram he told them his name, education, and gave his only two references; Dr Baker and one of his professors from college. His fervent hope was that he found a job before he spent the money needed for his train or stagecoach fare on telegrams.

It was a full week before he heard back; the positions in Colorado Springs and Reno had been filled, and the positions in San Francisco and Sacramento only wanted someone with experience. That left only the Haywards position. After a few days of thinking it over, Albert replied that he would be happy to be the town doctor and began packing his bags.

"Haywards?" frowned Charles when he heard the news. "Never heard of it."

"It's across the bay from San Francisco," explained Albert. "There's only about 1500 people."

"Only? Seems like an awful lot of people for one doctor."

"It's small compared to New York. Besides, not all of them would need me at once," Albert grinned.

"It's so far away," sighed Caroline, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. Her eyes misted thinking how far apart her family was going to be.

Albert's grin dissolved. "I know, Ma. But they need a doctor, and they don't mind that I'm fresh out of college. Most places do. If I'm gonna find a job, I need to take what I can get."

Caroline nodded, trying to smile. "I know that. I just...don't like the idea of my children spread all over Creation. Mary in New York...Laura in Dakota Territory...and now you in California."

Albert put down his pencil to wrap his arms around his mother. "I'll write. I always do. And I'll always come out to see you for Christmas...maybe even Easter. But Ma," he sighed, pulling back, "I want to do this...I feel like this is what God wants me to do...go to a new place and help people. Moses went into the wilderness. California's not exactly the biggest place in the world, but it's not a wilderness. I'll be fine."

A smile finally crossed Caroline's face and she nodded, though that smile was joined with tears. She sniffled and found a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. "When will you be leaving?"

Albert shrugged and sank back down. "End of the week." He offered another smile to his mother. "Don't cry. I'm not gone yet."

Caroline could only nod and continue to dab her eyes. "I know. It's just...I'm so proud of you."


	4. Haywards

Haywards, California  
July 1890

As it turned out, the trip by train from Des Moines to San Francisco was ten times worse than the trip from New York to Des Moines. Halfway to Salt Lake City the train tracks were blocked by a herd of cattle, causing a half-hour delay. Then the train was another hour late due to weather conditions, making Albert miss his connection in Reno. He had to wait another day for the next train. From Reno to San Francisco Albert was stricken with vomiting; his guess was from the questionable fish chowder at the Reno hotel. He spent the next two days sleeping off the affliction. By the time he caught a ride from San Francisco to Haywards, he was two days late, four pounds lighter, and sixteen dollars poorer than when he had left home. He was left with a measly three dollars and fifty cents in his pocket when he arrived.

Haywards, unlike San Francisco, was not a fishing town. While the odor of seaweed hung heavily anywhere within one mile of the bay, its main industries were in fruit farming outside town and the extraction of salt from the ocean. The smell did not help with Albert's still nauseous state. For an hour he wandered about the streets, trying to find the address he had been given in the last telegram. The one thing he could make out was 'Father Dougherty'. So he knew he needed to find a church.

Finally the sound of pounding nails caught his attention. Albert followed the noise to a small brick building set off to the side with stained glass windows and a stylized metal cross perched atop a steeple. A short, balding man of about forty with red cheeks and hair that was fast going from red to white stood on the steps, loudly hammering nails into batter boards set about a hundred feet from the church. Piles of new bricks and bags of mortar told of further construction. The man was dressed in work coveralls and a tweed newsboy cap. A bucket of water at his elbow was occasionally sipped from.

Albert cracked a smile and approached the man. _Well, at least I found the church._ "Excuse me!" he called over the hammering.

The man looked up and frowned, still hammering. The hammer slipped and slapped into the index and middle fingers of his left hand. With a cry of pain and an exclamation of something unintelligible, the man dropped the hammer and stuck his fingers in his mouth. A blush made his face even redder and he looked skyward, crossing himself briefly.

Albert cringed. He had hammered few fingers himself and knew how much it hurt. He set down his suitcase with a sigh and walked over to the man. "Are you all right?"

The man pulled his fingers out of his mouth and nodded, grimaced. "Aye, lad. Mary, mother of God!" He paused, looked up again, and crossed himself again before shaking out his fingers.

"I'm sorry I startled you. Can I have a look?" Albert offered.

"What's it t' you, lad?"

"I'm a doctor. I'm really sorry you hurt yourself. Can I just make sure you didn't break anything?"

The man stopped shaking his fingers and frowned, looking Albert up and down. "Doctor, eh? Mite young to be a doctor." He let Albert take his hand anyway...and yelped when he hit a sore spot. "Yeow!"

Albert flinched, but continued to look over the man's fingers with a well-trained eye. He turned the hand over and held it loosely in his own. "Can you make a fist?"

The man, thought wincing, did so.

Albert nodded in satisfaction and sighed. "It doesn't look broken. I'd wrap them and find some ice. You'll be fine."

The red-haired laborer raised his eyebrows. "Doctor, eh? How old er' ya, lad?"

Albert cringed, but answered promptly. "Twenty-two. I just graduated from the New York University College of Medicine."

The laborer shook his head in astonishment. "Huh!"

Albert moistened his lips. "Pardon me, but could you tell me where to find Father Dougherty?"

The man cracked a smile. "Yer lookin' at 'im, lad. Tell me what ye call ye'self, an' y' kin take the job o' that other lad 'oo never showed."

 _Oh, dear. This is what comes of being late_. Albert grimaced and held out his hand. "Ingalls. Albert Ingalls. I think I'm the lad who 'never showed'."

Father Dougherty flinched, then opened his eyes wide in amazement. "Yer Ingalls? Glory be, lad! Where ye been?"

"It's a long story, Father. The short of it is, I missed one of my trains and then fell ill in San Francisco," explained Albert.

"Fancy that, a doctor fallin' ill," muttered Dougherty. "Nothin' catchin'?"

"No. I ate something that didn't agree with me."

Dougherty sighed. "Poor lad. Ye does look a bit pale." He finally took Albert's hand and gave it a mighty shake. "Welcome t' Haywards, Dr. Ingalls! Ye be a right welcome sight, and God bless ye fer comin'...even if ye are a bit late. Come wi' me, an' I'll show ye the town."

Albert broke into a smile and immediately decided that he liked this Father Dougherty.

Father Dougherty had an energy that was difficult for even a spry young fellow like Albert to keep up with. He walked with a spring in his step and whistled as he went along. While he apparently had a quick temper, it cooled down quickly and then he was all smiles again.

Their first stop was the town hall to see the mayor, John Farley, who seemed altogether uninterested and made a remark that "Finding this doctor fellow was your idea, not mine." Then they moved on to the various places of interest, including the blacksmith, the general stores, and the schools. Father Dougherty avoided the Saloon like the plague and Albert didn't blame him.

"Most o' yer patients due for sewin' up'll come from there," he said, sadly shaking his head. "Aye, the devil got his hold tight in this town." And they moved on. There was a tiny jail and office where the Sheriff had set up shop, a bank, a laundry run by a Chinese family, and various specialty shops and residences along Main Street. Haywards certainly seemed to have a lot in it and was one of the most diverse places Albert had ever seen outside of New York, but everything was rather neglected and run down. An earthquake in 1868 had almost been the death of the place, though by that time everything had been rebuilt. Along the outskirts of town were mainly residences and five other places of worship; a Congregationalist church with a mostly African-American congregation, a Methodist church that doubled as a Jewish synagogue on Saturdays, a Mormon temple, a Baptist church, and finally a Presbyterian church run by a Reverend Gallagher. Albert took mental note to visit the Methodist, Baptist, and Presbyterian churches on different days and see what the services were like. He wasn't particular on which church he attended, so long as it was church. Further outside town were dozens of family-run orchards and farms.

Finally, they circled around again and ended up at a boarded up corner building that had been empty for several years after the barber had moved out. "Here y' are! Not much at the moment." Here Dougherty blew about a quarter inch of dust off the front counter and nearly choked on it. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Y' think he'd bother cleanin' it up once in three years!" He led Albert into the back room, which was nothing more than a hallway with a staircase leaded upstairs. "Livin' quarters upstairs...just th' basics."

And it was. At the moment nothing but a cobwebbed empty bed frame, an ancient potbellied stove, desk with one broken leg, and cracked washbasin occupied the room. Albert pulled on the window shade and somehow wasn't surprised when it broke in his hand. He eyed the room in dismay. _Ma would have a cow if she saw this place._ But none of it was beyond Albert's expertise to clean or fix.

Father Dougherty shook his head in dismay. "Sorry 'bout the mess, lad. I didn't know 'twas this bad."

"That's all right." Albert nodded slowly. "How much is the rent?"

"Mayor owns the place, but he said four dollars a month; two months' rent in advance."

Albert grimaced. _Uh-oh. All I have to my name is just under four dollars._ But he didn't have enough to turn the offer down and go home, either. Catch 22. He would have to rely on his charm to worm his way out of this predicament. "You, ah...didn't mention in the ad how much the job would pay."

Dougherty scratched his neck. 'That depends on how much your patients be willin' to pay. Some of 'em'll pay ye in kind."

Albert lifted his eyebrows. "You mean, bartering service for produce?"

The priest chuckled. "Eh, some...th' farmers, mostly fruit; cherries, apricots, peaches."

Albert's mouth watered. He loved peaches and could remember Ma's peach cobbler. "What other crops do the farmers grow?"

Dougherty shrugged. "Oh...tomatoes, potatoes...an' a bit o' livestock...mostly chickens."

"What about in the off seasons?"

"I've known some folks to pay in fish."

Albert fought the desire to wrinkle his nose. Fish was the last thing he wanted to think of, after that episode with the fish chowder in Reno. _Well, if Doctor Baker could live on chicken and eggs, then I suppose I can live on fish in the winter._ He gave a wry smile. "I don't suppose Mayor Farley would let me pay the rent in fish?"

Dougherty threw his head back to let out a hearty laugh. He slapped Albert on the shoulder. "Good lad!" He sobered quickly. "Ah...rent higher'n ye be expectin'?"

"A little," Albert admitted.

"Well, fergit the dusty old place, then!" Dougherty dismissed the building and took Albert by the arm to lead him back downstairs. "Ye kin stay wi me 'n th' missus."

Albert found himself taken aback by the sudden show of kindness. After all, the priest hardly knew him. "Oh...no, Father. I couln't."

"Well, ye can't stay here!"

"No, but I can get a room in town."

"Heh! Not at those prices!"

Albert sighed and paused on the stairs. "No, really, Father. I couldn't impose."

Dougherty scoffed and climbed back up the stairs to Albert. "Ah, no trouble 'tall. We 'ave a spare bedroom and we'll be 'appy t' 'ave ye." He paused and lifted an eyebrow. "Long as ye don't mind stayin' wi' a pair o' Irish Catholics. Ye been baptized, lad?"

Albert pushed back the unpleasant memory of his bath time dunking at the orphanage and nodded. "Yes...if it makes any difference, I'm not Catholic...but I was raised in church."

Dougherty's eyes crinkled when he smiled. "Good 'nough, lad. Long as ye be follerin' th' Lord, ye be welcome."

Albert found Father Dougherty and his wife Annie to be homey and pleasant. Annie was very strict about having a clean house- feet were to be wiped, hats and coats left on the rack next to the door, and hands and faces washed before supper -but was otherwise as warm and sweet as Ma. She scolded her husband regularly, but it was all in good fun. When Liam muttered a verse about the husband being the head of the household, Annie fired right back with her own verses. This couple had been married forever. Annie was shocked to hear of Albert's long train ride and insisted on doing his laundry that evening.

Supper- thankfully not fish -was delicious and rib-sticking. Albert thoroughly enjoyed himself. He was a little lost when the suppertime prayer was said in Latin, but tried gamely to do the Sign of the Cross at the end to be respectful. He thanked his hosts repeatedly before heading up to bed...and then promptly crashed into the warm pile of quilts.

It had been a very long day...and there was still a lot to do before Dr. Ingalls could see his first patient.

 **A/N: Don't worry, guys! I have no intention of abandoning this one. The next three or four chapters have already been written, they just need to be reviewed. I apologize for any historical inaccuracies that may rise in the meantime.**


	5. Letters

_Dr. Albert Ingalls  
Haywards, CA  
August 7, 1890_

 _To my dearest family,_

 _It is a difficult thing to believe that I have been in Haywards for a full month now. Things are going as well as can be expected. Though they could be better, they could be far worse. I finally have my office in town now. Working out a rental agreement with Mayor Farley was an uphill battle that would have challenged King David himself, but somehow we came to an understanding as of July 30th._

 _Cleaning my office has taken the better part of this last week. Ma, if you had seen it before, you would likely have given Mayor Farley a very stern talking to. The place was a mess. I must have cleared two pounds of dust and cobwebs from the first floor alone, to say nothing of the second. At least four large spiders have been permanently evicted from the residence. The mice are another story. I may have to find a cat soon._

 _While it is now clean, the office is still quite empty and in rather poor shape. As soon as I have replaced the front windows and given the exterior a coat of fresh paint, I'll hang my shingle. There is a lumber mill outside of town and, if I can work something out with the owner, I may yet have an exam table._

 _I have had my first ten patients already; all of them house calls. The most interesting case was an elderly lady who spoke of her ailing family members. That 'family' turned out to be a regular menagerie of animals; everything from a canary to an ancient sheepdog due to have puppies. She reminded me of Bandit. There was even a hutch of pet rabbits. Imagine that! Rabbits...as pets! It was difficult not to think of rabbit stew upon seeing those._

 _I tried repeatedly to explain to the lady that I'm a doctor and not a veterinarian, but she would not take 'no' for an answer. So I patiently examined all of her 'family members'. Most simply seem to need bigger cages. A big grey tomcat had gotten into a fight and been hurt badly, so I did my best to patch him up. He's a tough old thing, and I have a feeling he's going to make it. I am tempted to ask whether or not the lady has any female cats due to have kittens._

 _The lady was very grateful and compensated me with a fresh cherry pie. It was delicious- not nearly as good as Ma's, of course -and is a sample of how most have paid me. Only four have paid me in cash so far. I am a bit worried as to how I'm going to make the rent, but have a feeling everything is going to work out. I'm certainly not going to starve._

 _Have been attending the Presbyterian church since my second week, and I am still not quite sure what to make of the minister. Reverend Gallagher is a very good man, of course, and has the patience of a saint...as a matter of fact, he may be too patient! Making a stir is one thing this minister is very careful not to do. He will not speak out against anything; even the rough goings-on in the saloon. Unfortunately someone is going to have to make a stir if anything is to change here. It reminds me of the situation in Winoka with Mr. Standish. Mayor Farley seems to have everyone under his thumb. It's a pity that Toby Noe isn't around to light a few fireworks beneath him!_

 _Father Dougherty and Mrs. Dougherty have become my closest friends in Haywards. Mrs. Dougherty often stops by with a loaf of bread and fusses over me like a mother hen. Last week she brought something I have never heard of from San Francisco. It's called sourdough. As you can imagine I was rather reluctant to try it, but to my surprise it was quite good. I may ask Mrs. Dougherty for the recipe so I can send a copy to Ma._

 _I am rather worried about Father Dougherty. It seems he has a heart condition that leaves him out of breath when he works too hard. He must learn to rest or face the consequences. I have said as much to him, but he is a stubborn man. I pray his stubbornness does not lead to a heart attack, especially in this heat._

 _The weather here is far warmer than I expected. The Chronicle reported a record high the other day of 90 degrees...and there is no respite on the horizon. I hope everyone back home is having an easier time of it._

 _Give all my love to everyone. To Carrie, may you continue to have the best of luck at college. To Grace, keep your smile. To Ma and Pa, don't worry so much. I promise to keep up correspondence as often as possible. May God bless you all._

 _Your loving son and brother,_

 _Albert._

The 'arrangement' Albert had worked out with Mayor Farley was to do all maintenance on the building himself while Farley lowered the rent to three dollars a month. The security deposit was waived given the poor condition of the building.

There were other things that Albert left out of his letters. For one thing, the building was in even worse shape than he had previously thought. The roof had several leaks, the upstairs walls needed plastering, and there was a very alarming wobble in the staircase railing. Albert knew how to fix it...it was earning the money needed for repairs that was the problem.

For another, true to Father Dougherty's prediction, seven out of Albert's ten patients had come from the Saloon. Four had been in fist fights, two had been stabbed, and one had passed out from too much alcohol. Most of these incidents had taken place after ten o'clock at night. As a result Albert's sleep schedule changed drastically. He began turning in after eleven and waking up after six, going through bandages at an alarming rate. Only now did he fully realize what Doc Baker had gone through when someone pounded at his door in the middle of the night. Most infuriating of all was the fact that Farley was often at the saloon when these incidents took place, playing poker or roulette. He didn't even seem to care. As for the sheriff, he only made an arrest when Farley asked him to...or when it was convenient.

There was more going on in the town besides just violence and gambling. There were 'ladies of ill repute' for hire in the saloon, poverty on the outskirts, and petty crimes like theft and vandalism running rampant. It was a wonder any good people were left. But, they were present and perhaps in the majority, even if fear kept them quiet. It was this that Albert clung to when he was overwhelmed.

Two days after he had sent his letter, Albert was just starting to drift off to sleep when the half-forgotten report of a gun jolted him awake. The straw tick crackled beneath him as he lit the lamp and sat up, squinting and blinking. "Now, what?" he mumbled.

A loud commotion was heard coming from the vicinity of the saloon. Men shouted and scrambled about. The honky-tonk piano had gone silent. Several women screamed.

Albert felt his heart sink. _Dear God, don't let anyone die._ With a sigh, he pulled his trousers off the edge of the bed and hopped into them. No sooner had he stuffed the end of his nightshirt into his waistband than there was a loud knock on his door.

"Ingalls! Ingalls, wake up! We need a doc out here!" It was Blake Gordon, the bartender. He was always the first to run for cover and the first to run for help. Of course, not even he would call Albert 'doctor' yet. He was always 'lad', 'boy', or just 'Ingalls'.

"Hang on!" Albert called, hastily tying on his shoes and shoving a handful of bandages into his black doctor's bag. He finished by putting on his suspenders and running downstairs in the dark. Quickly he unlocked the door and burst out. "What's going on?" he asked Blake.

Blake, not much older than Albert, was dancing with nerves. "Fella got shot over at the saloon. He's bleedin' all over the place."

Albert nodded, making a face at the prospect of extracting a bullet. Doing it on a cadaver was one thing. Doing it on a live, writhing, screaming man was something else. "I'm coming." He took the time to lock his door before jogging next to Blake. "Who is it?"

Blake shrugged. "I dunno, never seen him before. Some sailor, I guess."

"Who shot him?"

"New guy. Didn't get a good look at him."

"Did you see what happened?"

"Think the guy lost a card game."

Albert closed his eyes and shook his head. _Dying over a card game..._ gambling and alcohol did strange things to people. "Who, the man who was shot, or the man who shot him?"

Blake swallowed. "Guy with the gun. I dunno where he went. I think he left."

Albert pursed his lips. "Hopefully this time the sheriff will take notice." They arrived at the saloon and had to elbow their way through a milling, nervously mumbling crowd to get to the victim. Even Albert flinched upon seeing him.

The man- just a kid, really, no older than sixteen or seventeen -lay moaning on the floor, clutching his left shoulder. Blood was already soaking his shirt and coming through his fingers. He had red, curly hair and freckles. His breathing was quick and labored. Whether this meant the bullet had hit one of his lungs, it was too soon to tell.

 _God, help me._ Albert felt himself go pale; both with anger at the fact a boy had been shot over something as stupid as a card game, and with fear thinking the boy could easily die. No one but a wide-eyed saloon girl had made any moves to help the boy yet. She was crouched next to him and speaking to him in quiet tones, though her own voice was shaking.

Albert cleared his throat and forced himself to drop next to the boy. "It's all right. I'm a doctor. I'm going to help you." His hands were shaking as he opened his bag.

The boy's tearful eyes went wide at seeing him. "He...he shot me...he shot me!"

"I know. Hold still," urged Albert. The boy kept writhing, and Albert motioned over his shoulder. "Can I get some help over here?"

One or two older men dropped down to help hold the boy while Albert worked.

Quickly the young doctor rolled up his sleeves and ripped open the boy's shirt to inspect the wound. It was a large hole about a half inch in diameter, located between the shoulder, collarbone, and ribcage and bleeding profusely. Albert rolled him over to look for an exit wound. There was none. The doctor would have to go digging. His stomach lurched, threatening to expel his dinner. Albert swallowed hard and breathed another prayer. "God, help me." He looked at the man beside him. "In my bag there's something that looks like a pair of pliers. Can you get that for me?" He could have reached for them himself, but didn't want to fish around in the bag with bloody hands.

The mustached man frowned, but did as he was told and withdrew the extractors. "These?"

Albert nodded. "Perfect. Thank you." He took the instruments from the man and next procured his bottle of rubbing alcohol. He doused both hands and the extractors in the stuff before pulling out the chloroform and soaking a rag.

"Hey!" bellowed Farley from the top of the steps. Everyone turned to look at him. "Don't you go cutting on anyone in here, Ingalls!"

"I can't move him yet," argued Albert.

"I don't care! You get that kid outta here right now!"

"You want to be responsible for a dead kid, Farley?"

The barked indignity took Farley aback. Suddenly all of his patrons glared at him. He took a step back and held up his palms. "Whoa...hold on. I didn't say..." He glared. "Fine, just hurry it up down there!"

Albert sighed and turned back to the boy, who was shaking and trying not to cry.

The boy gripped Albert's hand. "Doc...doc...am I gonna die, doc?" asked the fearful youth.

Stubbornly Albert shook his head. "Not if I can help it. You're just gonna go to sleep for a minute." He looked around for the saloon girl, who had since left. Shrugging, Albert held the rag to the boy's mouth and nose until he had passed out. The rag was handed to the nearest man with instructions to keep it in place. Then Albert went to work. He peered closely at the bullet hole, then probed the wound with his fingers. Something hard moved beneath them. Albert quickly picked up the extractor and reached for the bullet. The ends closed around something hard and slippery. It was hard to get a hold on. After several tries he grasped tightly and slowly pulled it out...the round ball of a lead bullet.

Albert sighed deeply in relief. "Thank God." He resumed his work.

Fifteen long and tense minutes later, the boy had been sewn up and carried out of the saloon up to Albert's living quarters. Without any cots, he told the men to lay the boy on his own bed and see if they could find his parents...and round up the shooter. There was a newfound respect in the men's eyes as they left the doctor with his patient.

Albert, sitting in his chair by the sleeping, stitched, bandaged boy, was still buzzing with adrenaline. He could hardly believe what he had just done. His only hope now was that the boy had not lost too much blood. At least his breathing had quieted, meaning the bullet had missed his lungs. The kid would have to be watched to be sure he didn't suddenly stop breathing.

Sometime after 1 am, Albert passed out from exhaustion.


	6. The Chase

Haywards, California  
September 1890

Albert's young patient- Sean Murphy -recovered well from his wound. Word that Dr. Ingalls had saved a boy's life traveled quickly around town and gained him the respect he had been looking for. By the end of summer everyone started calling him by his salutation instead of his name. The only exceptions were Farley and his cronies. If anything, their dislike of him grew.

The shooter, meanwhile, had been caught and turned in to the law in Alameda, the county seat, where he would stand trial for attempted murder.

Albert's number of patients began steadily increasing as the weeks passed. Albert in turn continued fixing up his office. The first week of September he managed to build an exam table with wood bartered from the lumber mill. Two weeks later he assembled a couple of cots. By this time he had whitewashed the outside of his building and hung his shingle. Now it was actually starting to look like a doctor's office...though a few people still came in asking for haircuts and shaves.

On the first Saturday of September- only a few degrees cooler than the blistering summer -Albert locked up his office, parked his flat hat on his head and walked down the street to the general store with a bit of money in his pocket. He needed a few staples. In addition, there was muslin bandage material, an oil lamp for better light, and roofing material that he needed. He had saved up ten dollars and there should be just enough to cover it all, plus the next months' rent.

Albert walked into Tanner's General Store in a fairly good mood and spotted Ned Tanner's sixteen year old daughter Jenny rearranging ladies' bonnets on the rack by the door. The girl smiled and waved at him, and Albert tipped his hat to her, making her giggle. Albert cleared his throat uncomfortably and turned away.

While Jenny was very pretty, very sweet, and very smitten with him, Albert had no interest in pursuing a girl six years his junior. Already the few single women of the town had taken to 'making eyes' at the handsome young doctor from the East. All the unwanted attention made Albert uncomfortable. _Where's Ned?_

As if on cue Ned, middle-aged with spectacles and salt-and-pepper hair and mustache, emerged from the storeroom, clipboard in hand. He nodded to Albert courteously. "Morning, Doc. What can I do for you?"

Albert smiled and nodded back. "Good morning, Mr. Tanner. I've got a few things I need to pick up."

Ned chuckled. "Doc, how many times I gotta tell you? It's Ned. Just plain Ned. Now what do you need?"

Albert sighed at Ned's familiarity and pulled out his list. "Let's see...flour, coffee, bacon..."

While Albert was reading out his list, he didn't notice a small boy creeping into the store. His hatless hair was mussed, his overalls patched and hemmed until there was no more hem left, and his blue-gray coat a size too small. The young doctor didn't see him until the boy had crept up beside him to stare longingly at the candy jars.

Albert glanced at him long enough to make a quick assessment. His clothing was worn, but more or less clean...he was skinny, but not emaciated. If Albert had to guess, the boy came from one of the poor families outside town. Albert followed his line of sight and smiled. "Hey," he called softly.

The boy didn't move. Albert frowned in brief concern and touched the boy's shoulder. "Hey, son-"

The boy moved then...violently. He broke away and scurried out the door like the devil was after him, hands shoved in coat pockets.

Albert was perplexed. "What's wrong with him?" he asked softly.

Ned stacked Albert's order on the counter. "Who?"

"The little boy who was just in here."

Ned looked around in confusion. "I don't see any little boy," he shrugged.

Albert knit his brows. _I know I wasn't seeing things._ He held his hand about hip height. "About so tall, brown hair, kind of patched-looking...maybe five or six years old?"

Ned rolled his eyes skyward and nodded. "Oh, him. It's that Smith kid. He's trouble. Doesn't go to church, doesn't go to school...caught him stealing from me couple of times." He set a small package of nails on the counter. "$6.82."

Albert fished the money from his pocket with a concerned frown. "What about his parents?"

"Far as I know, he doesn't have any father, and his mother works in the saloon. What does that tell ya?" Ned made change for Albert and handed it to him.

"Well, you can't really judge someone by how his parents are," said Albert. He remembered his own childhood, growing up in orphanages and finally on the streets. He pocketed his change and surveyed the hefty pile he now had to carry home. "Hmm..."

"Want any help, or you want to make a couple trips? I'll hold the rest of it for you," offered Ned.

"I'll make a couple of trips, thanks," smiled Albert.

Ned shook his head. "You need a horse, doc."

Albert chuckled. "Even if I had the means to take care of a horse, where would I keep him?" He reached for the crate of groceries, then stopped to put his watch where it wouldn't be- He stopped and patted his pockets in alarm. "My watch is gone."

Ned's eyes widened. "You sure? Maybe you just left it at home."

Albert shook his head, going through all of his pockets. "No. I always- hey!" He spotted the little boy outside the window, peering in and holding Albert's pocket watch in his little hand. The boy flinched and beat a hasty retreat to the right.

"Go ahead, catch him!" exclaimed Ned.

"I'll be right back," called Albert as he jogged out the door. He saw the little boy running as fast as he could down the wooden sidewalks.

The chase was on. The kid, though small, was exceedingly fast. He led Albert around corners, down alleys, and right out of town.

Albert, though he was in good shape, found himself astonished as the boy's speed. He was struck with an odd sense of déjà vu upon remembering a similar chase thirteen years before; him as an orphaned nine year old running from who would later become his adoptive father. This time Albert knew what it felt like to be the pursuer instead of the pursued. It was kind of unnerving, knowing a small boy could outpace him. Albert pounded on, expecting the child to duck into an alley or under a staircase as he gained on him.

To his surprise, the little boy ran straight to the last house on the street- little more than a shack -and ran right inside, leaving the door open in his haste. A surprised woman's voice made an exclamation, possibly scolding. Albert skidded to a stop just inside the doorway...and froze.

The inside of the tiny, run-down house was just as out of repair as the outside. Three beds were each set against different walls, cramped next to an iron stove, a table with three chairs, and shelves of dishes and other odds and ends stacked ceiling-high next to the stove. Under each bed was a small trunk, presumably for clothing. The little boy had dove headfirst under the bed against the far wall, while in the nearest bed was a tall, lanky, white-haired man that looked quite ill. Sitting on the bed tending to him was a young woman, who gasped in surprise and turned to the door, eyes wide with fear. She crouched defensively next to the bed. Her brown hair was tied up in a bun, several strands falling loose around her face.

Albert felt shock envelop his body as he took in the scene before him. Even as the truth came together he denied it. For a moment he couldn't speak.

"Who's there?" rasped the old man, trying to rise from bed. "Get...out of my...house!" His voice had once been an ominous roar, but had dwindled to a sickly rasp. It was joined with a barking, hacking cough that made him double over.

"Shh...lie down, Papa," urged the young woman. She didn't rise, posture like that of a cornered animal. "Who-" She gasped again, covering her mouth. Apparently she had recognized a face she had not seen in eight years.

Albert was blinking hard, still not believing his eyes. But the eyes were the same...the voice was the same...and the old man...Albert knew them. "Sylvia?"

Sylvia seemed to lose all color from her face. "Albert."

There was an uneasy silence in the room for the longest time. Hector had since fallen asleep, hand to chest. Then all at once color returned to Sylvia's face and she glared at Albert. "What are you doing here?"

Albert took a step back. He was so overwhelmed with feelings he couldn't sort out, feelings he had tried to forget over the last eight years. It took some effort not to be transported back to the days when he was a child of fourteen, falling in love with a frightened, pretty girl of the same age. After a few deep breaths, the young doctor sighed. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to burst in like that and scare you. I didn't know you lived here."

Sylvia bitterly shook her head. "You didn't recognize me, did you?"

Albert's shoulders fell. "At the saloon...that was you, wasn't it...the first one to help Sean? No. I didn't." He sighed brokenheartedly.

"Go ahead. Say what you're thinking. Mrs Oleson was right, wasn't she? 'That girl, she's nothing but a-'"

"No!" Albert glanced uneasily at the sleeping Hector before shaking his head. "I'd never think that. Why, Sylvia? Why would you...work there?"

Sylvia jumped up from her father's bed, fire in her eyes. "I didn't have any choice! Besides, it's not what you think. I'm not a-" she glanced at the boy under the bed and sighed, her eyes closed. "I wait tables. That's all."

Albert should have been relieved, but the sick feeling in his stomach was still there. The hurt was still in his eyes.

The young woman turned away angrily. "What? You thought I would? I couldn't! I could never...not after what-" her voice broke and she sank into a chair at the table, covering her eyes.

Albert quietly walked up to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. He flinched when she jerked away. She still hadn't forgiven him. He nodded toward the boy under the bed. "He's your son?"

Sylvia nodded and wiped her eyes, suddenly accusatory. "What do you want with him? Were you chasing him?"

"He stole my watch. I just wanted to get it back. That's all."

"Stole?" Sylvia turned to the boy and beckoned to him. "Tommy, come here."

Tommy gulped and slowly crawled out from under the bed. In doing so it became obvious that his left arm was missing below the elbow.

Albert flinched and immediately wondered what had happened. _God..._

Sylvia noticed this and glared at him again. "Don't you dare say anything. He was born that way."

Albert showed his palms. "I wasn't going to."

"Tommy," said Sylvia sternly. "Did you take that man's watch?"

Tommy stuck out his chin and shook his head.

"Thomas Elijah Webb, you tell me the truth," warned Sylvia.

Tommy flinched, glanced at Albert, and reached into his pocket and pulled out the watch, shoulders hunched.

Sylvia's cheeks grew red with anger and hurt. "Thomas! You know stealing is wrong...and you fibbed about it. Give it back to him right now."

Thomas reluctantly handed the watch back to Albert.

"Thank you, Tommy," said Albert quietly. He put the watch back in his pocket. He flinched when Sylvia slapped the boy's hand.

"Thomas, you _don't steal_. It's bad. Understand?" Sylvia said with a note of desperation in her voice.

Thomas, rubbing his hand and sniffling, nodded.

"Go wash up."

The boy retreated to the washbasin and sullenly took off his jacket before rolling up his sleeves. The left he rolled up normally, but the right he rolled up by sliding his hand down his side.

Sylvia rose to her feet with a shudder. "I'm sorry he stole your watch. If he broke it, I'll see about getting it fixed."

Albert slowly shook his head. "You didn't have to slap him. If he said he was sorry, I would have-"

Sylvia glared at him again. "He can't." She turned away, her voice close to breaking again. "He can't speak. He's never said anything...not a word."

Albert reeled from this new revelation. "At all?" When Sylvia shook his head he felt his heart drop again. "What happened?"

Sylvia wiped her eyes. "He came early...almost two months. He was so small and weak, the midwife didn't think he'd live. There were so many things wrong with him...but he held on, and now there's just his arm and his voice."

Albert sighed heavily. A strange guilt that he had not been there to help plagued him as he turned to Hector. "What about your pa?"

The bitterly young woman shook her head. "He thought we could make it in Frisco. The only jobs he could find were on the docks. His cough started a few years later, but he never did anything about it. Then one day he just couldn't work anymore...so I started working."

"What's wrong with him?" Albert asked softly.

"You're the doctor. You figure it out," snapped Sylvia.

"Well, I'd like to help him...and Tommy, if I can."

"What? Are you going to raise the dead and walk on water next?"

"Sylvia-"

The young woman whipped around and turned on him with a vengeance. "Get out. You've got your watch...you've got your dream, and you've found out what kind of hole we landed in. So get out!"

Albert sighed heavily through his nose and backed toward the door. "All right, I'll leave. I'm sorry about what happened, but if you won't let me help...then I won't bother you anymore." He marched toward the door, opened it, and left. He walked stiffly all the way back to the general store, fighting tears as he went.

"So, did you catch that little thief?" asked Ned as Albert found his way back to the store.

"No. He got away." Albert's cheeks burned in lying, but it was far easier than explaining how he knew the little boy's family.

"You get your watch back?" Ned wanted to know.

"Yeah. He must have dropped it." Albert gathered his arms under his crate full of supplies and walked out the door. "I'll come back for the rest later."


	7. Past and Present

Much as Albert tried to put Sylvia and her ailing family out of his mind, he couldn't. His dreams were haunted with images of the past...and the future that had never been...the future they had dreamed of together as children. It was difficult to awaken and remember that much time had passed. They were adults now, living separate lives. _She doesn't even want me there,_ he argued with himself. _She still hates me._ Forcing help on them would get him nowhere.

His mind still wandered, full of questions _. Has Hector ever seen a doctor? What did they tell him? Is there anything that can be done to help? What of Tommy? Why can't he speak? Is there something wrong with How has Tom been able to communicate up until now?_ The vague memory of Laura teaching a boy sign language returned, piquing Albert's curiosity. _Where did Dr. Baker find those books? Can anyone order them?_

Albert's enthusiasm waned in realizing Sylvia had told him to stay away. Even if he had the books, there was no guarantee Sylvia would even agree to look at them. She was just as likely to throw them in Albert's face out of spite.

A week passed. The young doctor knew he had to force his past love out of his mind if he was to focus on his doctoring, so with prayer and a letter home asking for advice, Albert made himself push Sylvia aside. He threw himself into working on his office with an energy that worried Father Dougherty. Frustration at the situation was taken out on the nails as he set about repairing the roof above his office and living quarters. Time after time the hapless twopennies were pounded into submission while Albert sweat through his shirt. The ruthless pounding disturbed Albert's neighbors and he ended up making several apologies before the day was out.

But his single-minded work paid off. By sunset the roof was sound. Only time- and the next rain storm -would tell if his repairs were waterproof. Albert was too tired to cook his supper that evening, so he ate a couple of ham sandwiches before bathing and turning in.

More time passed. While it was no easier for Albert to forget Sylvia, he was kept busy with his repair work and the odd patient who happened to wander in. He dropped in on the widow Dawson- the elderly woman with a family of pets -and was pleased to see how well the grey tomcat was getting around. And sure enough, one of Mrs Dawson's two female cats- a feisty orange tabby -was expecting kittens. Upon hearing the mouse situation at Albert's residence, the widow promised him a future mouser when the kittens were weaned.

The old sheepdog was not doing as well. She was sleeping most of the time and didn't seem to be eating enough to support both her puppies and herself. Albert, while the only dog he had experience with had been old Bandit, worried about her. She didn't even seem strong enough to deliver her pups.

Albert was unfortunately proved right the next day when the sheepdog whelped. No sooner had the last of the six puppies been delivered than the old dog breathed her last. It was heartbreaking seeing the puppies trying to nurse from their dead mother...and seeing how distraught Mrs. Dawson was at losing her dog. To balance the bad with the good, Albert did everything he could to save the puppies. Two out of the six were stillborn, but the other four seemed to have a chance. Mrs. Dawson seemed equally determined to help the poor things live, and picked up a bottle from the general store from which to feed the pups. The little creatures thrived under her tender loving care.

The following Saturday saw Albert very busy. There was a dock collapse at one of the salt collection ponds in the bay and six men were hurt. His office overflowed as the laborers cried out and swore in three different languages- Spanish, Japanese, and English, to be exact -and he was hard-pressed to keep them all still until they had been treated. The Miyazaki brothers- aged eighteen and twenty -were among the worst with broken ribs and possible internal injuries. Their weeping twelve year old sister translated for them. Juan Diaz, while he had a badly broken leg, spoke just enough English to translate for Fernando and Jose Gonzales- father and son. Fernando kept shooing Albert away and barking at him to see to his son first. Jose, who was barely fifteen, had been impaled through the leg by an old railroad spike that had been used to hold the dock together. He lay on the exam table weeping. "Madre, madre," he moaned. Albert was most worried about him. If that wound became infected the boy could lose his leg...if he didn't die from blood loss first.

The loudest of the bunch was, apparently, the least seriously injured. Robert Foster, a frequent patron of the nearest saloon, was using language bad enough to make a sailor blush and kept using racial slurs against Albert's other patients. He himself had nothing more than a sprained ankle and a few bruises. He was being left until last and was not happy about it. "Hey! Hey, doc! Leave them slant-eyes and chili peppers alone! What about me?"

Albert was at the end of his patience with Foster. He closed his eyes after dosing the crying boy with a painkiller and glared at the loudmouth. "Mr. Foster, if you can't be quiet, you'll have to leave. I'm going to lose three people right here unless you let me concentrate."

Foster swore again. "Leave!? I can't walk, God-" And he proceeded to cuss the doctor out again, putting in how he didn't care if some blankety-blank immigrants died. They were a dime a dozen.

"I do care!" cried Albert. "Now, unless you're going to get over here and help, either shut up or get out of here, or so help me, I _will_ call the Sheriff. Understand?"

Foster snapped his mouth shut and crossed his arms, mumbling incoherently.

After recruiting help from some curious but strong-stomached onlookers, Albert was able to get the Miyazaki brothers, Juan, and Fernando stable enough to focus entirely on Jose. It took another four hours of surgery to remove the spike from his leg, but the boy came through and looked as if he was going to survive. Fernando, after his head had been bandaged and his broken arm set with a plaster cast, kept asking about his son in Spanish. With Juan passed out from the pain, Albert could only shrug helplessly.

The Miyazaki brothers ended up with eight broken ribs, a fractured sternum, broken collarbone, and several deep gashes in need of stitches between them, but as time went by it was evident no organs had been damaged. As they lay in their cots bandaged like mummies and dosed heavily with codeine, they spoke quietly with their little sister, who smiled and turned to Albert. "My brothers thank you for helping them."

Kohei, the younger of the two, nodded. " Anata wa ishi kansha."

Albert managed a tired and halfhearted smile and nodded to the young men. "Then tell them they're very welcome."

The girl smiled, bowed, and turned to her brothers. "Do itashimashite."

After Juan's leg had been set and cast, he was taken home by his family. Finally Albert was able to wrap the surly Robert's ankle. The two of them could barely look each other in the eye.

"I don't suppose I can convince you to stay off your feet for a week or two," Albert muttered as he tied off the wrap and handed Robert a pair of crutches.

Robert glared at him and didn't answer, hobbling out the door as loudly and quickly as he could.

Albert finally shuddered and sank into a chair to look over his patients. All four of them were treated and lying quietly. The Miyazaki brothers each lay on a cot while Jose still lay on the exam table. His father, meanwhile, knelt with his eyes closed, tightly clutching a rosary around his neck and whispering in Spanish. All Albert could catch was 'por favor' and 'Santa Maria'.

Albert's heart ached. How many times had he seen his own father at a child's bedside in the same posture of supplication? Prayer was prayer, in any language. Struck by a stinging conscience, Albert folded his hands and bowed his head to offer up his own petition for his patients' lives.

Miraculously, all four of Albert's critically injured patients lived. The Miyazaki brothers went home in a week while Jose took ten days. His father refused to leave without his son. During those days Albert slept little and ate less, but was gratified to see each of them improving. When they all left with smiles and thanks, Albert felt his heart warm. _This is why I became a doctor,_ he thought.

But more than ever, Albert realized he needed a break. He hadn't been fishing in ages. That following Saturday he locked his doors, packed a couple of sandwiches for lunch, and took his fishing pole down to the nearest river to try his luck.

It was overcast but otherwise a pleasant day. It had finally begun to cool off and Albert enjoyed the breeze as it ruffled his hair. He found a quiet, shady pool about two miles outside town and set his hook with a worm before casting his line. Even before the first fish bit, Albert could feel himself relaxing.

At about noon, when Albert had a string of four rainbow trout, he heard a rustle behind him. He ignored it and set his hook again.

A minute later a small blonde-haired blur crept by, peering through the bushes.

Albert glanced in that direction and saw the bushes wobble when the figure ducked back behind them. He cracked a smile. A child was trying to spy on him...and not doing a very good job of it. For the first few minutes he pretended not to notice the boy...for a boy it was, in a ragged felt hat and blue-gray coat a size too small for him. But the boy crept closer and closer, always keeping an eye on Albert's lunch pail. Albert's smile began to fade as he realized what the boy was up to. _He's not going to pilfer my lunch, is he?_ As a test, Albert made a show of yawning and stretching. He tilted his hat over his face and laced his fingers behind his head, pretending to go to sleep.

Minutes passed. At last the boy crept in close and reached into Albert's lunch pail.

Albert sat up at once and grabbed the boy's wrist. "Ah! Gotcha. Now why don't-" His heart sank upon seeing the missing left arm and the familiar features. "I know you. Tommy, right?"

Tommy flailed and pulled away, panic written on his face. A hoarse, half-strangled whimper came from his throat.

 _So he has something of a voice._ Albert took the boy's shoulder. "All right, take it easy. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you, all right?"

Tommy stopped struggling and frowned. He wrenched free of Albert's grip to pat first his mouth, then his throat before shaking his head.

 _He's made up a few signs, too._ Albert's shoulders fell and he sighed. "I know you can't talk...at least not with your mouth. Just shake your head for no and nod for yes. Are you Tommy?"

Tommy stood still impatiently. He seemed ready to jump out of his skin and there was a bitter, neglected look in his eye. Finally he nodded.

"Now. Were you trying to take my lunch?" asked Albert.

Tommy looked away, hunching his shoulders. After a minute he nodded.

"I figured," nodded Albert with a look of slight amusement. "You know, if you're trying to sneak up on someone, you shouldn't be so obvious." His smile faded. "Why would you want to take my lunch? Are you hungry?"

After another long pause Tommy nodded.

"Well, feeding you is your mothers' job. Doesn't she feed you?"

Here Tommy scowled and began motioning with his hand a mile a minute.

Albert's head spun and he took Tommy's hand to slow him down. "Whoa, hold it. Hold on a minute. Can you slow down?"

Tommy sighed, as if with impatience, and nodded. He pulled on his hair and pantomimed brushing it and putting it up on his head.

Albert nodded slowly. "Your mother?"

Tommy nodded back and continued by pretending he was coughing, then angry. That was clear enough.

"Your grandfather? Yes. I know he's sick," sighed Albert.

Impatiently Tommy shook his head. He then pretended to mix something in a bowl, pantomimed his mother again, then his grandfather, then pointed to himself. He mimed his mother again, then yelling, then smacking his hand.

"Your mother takes care of your grandfather...and gets angry with you?" guessed Albert. His heart broke when Tommy nodded. The boy felt neglected and pushed aside. "Well, she must feed you something."

Tommy shrugged and pointed to his mouth and stomach impatiently. Apparently whatever it was, Tommy was still hungry. By this time his lower lip was wobbling.

Albert sighed. Clearly Sylvia and her family were in dire straits. "I'm sorry, Tommy. I'd like to help you and your mother, but I'm afraid she won't let me."

Tommy sank to the ground, tears forming in his eyes.

"You must worry about your grandfather," said Albert softly.

Stubbornly Tommy shook his head and pantomimed his grandfather again, then lay down with his eyes closed and tongue sticking out. He did this several times, crying all the while. Then he crossed his arms and turned away

Albert flinched when the meaning of this became clear. Tommy thought his grandfather was going to die...and apparently wouldn't be sad when it happened. Sylvia had focused so on caring for her ailing father that she had neglected her son. Now Tommy was growing surly and bitter at seven years old. Conscience struck Albert hard. _I have to help them._ He stared at the boy for a moment, then sighed and pulled out one of his sandwiches. "Tommy?"

Tommy lifted his head and found his eyes going wide at the sight of the lopsided sandwich with a thick slice of cheese in the middle. He stared at Albert with a question in his eyes.

Albert eyed the boy. "You promise not to steal again?"

Tommy nodded quickly, mouth watering at the sight of the food.

The young doctor handed Tommy the sandwich. "Here." He watched as the boy began to stuff his face as if he hadn't eaten in days. He frowned and clapped the boy on the back when he coughed. "Easy. Not so fast."

Accordingly the boy slowed down, but only a little bit. In minutes he had polished off the sandwich and stood licking the crumbs from his fingers.

Albert found his eyes drifting to the boy's missing arm. Tommy seemed to have adapted quite well to living without a left hand and used his arm normally. Albert's medical training made him curious if the boy would do any better with a prosthetic arm. He wanted a closer look. "Tommy, I noticed you don't have a left hand. Can I see?"

Immediately Tommy frowned and turned about, running away. Apparently he was sensitive about his birth defect.

Albert sighed and slowly shook his head. _I wish I could help him...and his mother._


	8. Diagnosis

From that point on Tommy took to haunting Albert's medical office. He would hang around outside and sometimes stare in the window while Albert was treating one person or another. If Albert tried to say hello, Tommy would turn tail and run away.

In the meantime Albert's medical practice continued to grow. His reputation as a kind and patient doctor with a natural skill began to spread across the city limits as summer gave way to fall. He made no distinctions between color, race, age, gender, or creed and treated everyone the same. This made some avoid him, but in a town as diverse as Haywards it paid to be tolerant. While a little less than half of Albert's patients still paid him in kind, the rest paid him in cash. Some of the farming families paid him with dinner. The office began to improve and Albert began putting money aside for transportation so he could reach the more outlying farms. Out of necessity the young doctor began learning various words in different languages. By October he knew 'hello', 'goodbye', 'how are you feeling?', 'ill', 'hurt', 'I'm a doctor', 'medicine', 'help', 'well', 'yes', 'no', 'please', 'thank you', and 'you're welcome' in Spanish and most of those words in Chinese. Japanese was still a work in progress, and the little Russian he had heard, he could make neither heads nor tails of.

With almost a third of the population now at least familiar with him, Albert found himself making an appointment book to better manage his time, though most of his patients were walk-ins. He treated everything from blisters to bunions to broken bones and beyond. On October 10th he performed his first solo emergency Ceasarean. Mother and child recovered quickly, but Albert realized he needed help, especially during surgery. He began putting out the call for a full-time assistant. The main requirements were honesty, good bedside manner, and a strong constitution. The former and latter were easy enough to find in a farming community, but the middle requirement did not often accompany it. Albert realized he would have to find someone who was trained in medicine to help him.

His ad read as follows: 'Help Wanted: Nurse/Medical Assistant. Duties to include assisting in operations, patient observation, and general assistance with patients. Training required. Strong constitution needed. Pay commission-based. Send letter or telegram with qualifications to Dr. Albert Ingalls, 134 Mission Street, Haywards, CA. '

Albert did not really want to be someone's boss, but the sad fact was he needed help. Badly.

Harvest was upon them. The weather cooled. The last of the summer peaches, apricots, and cherries were dried, canned, or put into baked goods. The last of the season's tomatoes were also either sold or put up for winter. Meanwhile the potatoes and winter squashes were brought in. Albert saw an increase in the number of back problems and handed out a lot of aspirin. The three schools in town, each with 150 to 200 students, filled with children who returned from the orchards and fields a year older and often several inches taller. Albert got to know some particularly reluctant individuals who claimed stomachaches or sore throats to avoid the three R's...or a bully. He also saw some evidence of possible abuse at home, but had no proof other than his instincts. Without a witness, the minister told him, he couldn't do anything about it. That was depressing.

Being the town doctor had its good points, too. Albert had gotten to know more than half of the town and was often greeted on the street with "Hey, Doc." Most of these people were acquaintances, but there were some friends he had made. While he had begun attending the Methodist church nearly a month before, Albert remained in close contact with Father Dougherty and his wife. The pair were like surrogate parents, always ready to hear Albert's troubles or offer a prayer, a meal, or a simple hug. His other friends included Reverend James Keller the Methodist minister, Ned Tanner the storekeeper, and several patients whose lives he ended up saving.

Among them was the Gonzales family. Jose's leg had mended well after surgery. He was left with only a thick scar and frightening memories. In gratitude his family often stopped by with one thing or another every Friday afternoon. Sometimes it was fresh produce from their garden, sometimes a mouthwatering dish like tamales. After the first month of this Albert had showed his palms and managed "No mas, por favor!" He patted his middle to indicate this treatment would make him gain weight. The matriarch had only shrugged it off and pushed the basket into Albert's hands anyway.

The newest of Albert's friends was a little gray tabby tom-kitten- the latest gift from the widow Dawson. Almost immediately the mouse population in his apartment and office began to dwindle. In return Albert supplied the kitten with enough meat and milk- as well as the occasional fish head -to keep him from wandering. The only thing lacking was a name. Given his new acquaintances Albert resisted calling the kitten Tom, but was at a loss until Reverend Keller came calling and had his heels pounced upon by the little mouser. After assuring Albert he was fine, he suggested a fitting name; 'Jacob', which meant 'heel-grabber'. Albert shortened the name to 'Jake', and it stuck. From that point on his biggest problem was keeping the over-friendly cat from bothering his patients...especially the odd fellow that happened to be allergic.

One afternoon on the 15th of October Albert was having a slow day. His biggest excitement that day was chasing Jake off the table after he stolen the meat from Albert's sandwich. The kitten had gulped the prize down and sat licking his chops when Albert finally caught him the scruff of the neck.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked the kitten with a sigh. Jake replied with a plaintive mew. Albert finally cracked a smile and held the kitten in his arms, scratching him behind the ears. "All right. But from now on, I'm going to put you outside when I'm eating."

Jake the kitten purred at the attention.

Suddenly a loud and desperate knock on the door interrupted the moment. _So much for lunch._ Albert quickly put down the kitten and hurried downstairs, putting his vest back on. "Just a minute," he called. His brows knit when he saw little Tommy dancing with worry. _What on earth?_ Quickly he let the boy in. "Tommy? What's wrong?"

Tommy, who looked as though he had been crying, quickly grabbed Albert's hand and tugged him toward the door.

"Wait a minute- Tommy!" Albert crouched in front of the boy. "What's going on? Is it your grandfather?"

Impatiently Tommy shook his head. He motioned a mile a minute and finally pantomimed his mother. Then he pretended to fall down and close his eyes before rising and tugging on Albert's hand again.

Albert felt his heart sink. "Your mother fell? She's hurt?" When Tommy nodded the young doctor closed his eyes. _God, please...not Sylvia..._ His eyes flew open and he hurriedly packed his stethoscope and several other things in his bag. After putting on his jacket, Albert came outside and paused just long enough to lock his door. Then he nodded to Tommy. "All right, Tommy. Show me."

Tommy sniffled and nodded back. His little legs then took off as fast as they could carry him. The odd scene drew several wide-eyed stares from the townspeople.

"Hey, doc! What's goin' on?" hollered Ned, broom in hand.

"Emergency," answered Albert hurriedly. "I'll explain later!" He directed his attention to running after the boy. It was déjà vu once again, only this time he wasn't chasing the boy to get something back. He was running after the son of the girl he had once loved, that now hated him. He only hoped that she would let him help her.

It seemed to take forever to reach the outskirts of town, but at last Albert and the boy rounded the corner to the familiar shack where the family lived. Tommy scurried to the door and pulled it open.

There on the floor lay Sylvia, motionless and unconscious. Hector knelt next to his daughter and held her hand, speaking to her in his hoarse voice. "Sylvie...Sylvie, girl, wake up." When the door opened his head snapped up to Tommy. "You bring help, boy? You-" He froze upon seeing Albert. "Albert Ingalls?"

Albert nodded. He stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Yes, sir. What happened?"

Hector eyed the young man with the gaze of a man who was near giving up. "You a doctor?"

"Yes, sir." His eyes stung seeing Sylvia lie so. But he did not want to examine her unless he had permission from her father. "Tommy brought me here."

"Then help her," he choked, turning to look at his daughter. "Help my Sylvia."

"Of course I will." Without further ado Albert came in and dropped next to her. "Sylvia?" He gently shook her shoulder. "Sylvia...what happened?" he asked Hector.

Hector had risen and shuffled back to his bed, where he sat watching. He shook his head. "Don't know...she was fixin' dinner and just...collapsed...won't wake up."

Albert cringed. So she had fainted. There were any number of possible reasons for this, from an illness to simple exhaustion. He worked quickly, first picking the woman up and lying her gently in bed, then pulling out a reflective headband. One brown eye squinted through the hole in the mirrored metal as he shined light in Sylvia's eyes. "Did you see if she hit her head?"

Hector shrugged. "No. Don't think so. What's wrong with her?"

Albert took off his head band with a frown and began feeling around Sylvia's scalp for lumps or bumps. "I'm not sure yet. Hang on a minute." When there were none, he sighed and took her pulse. It seemed to be normal and there was no sign of a fever or any other illness. He laid Sylvia's hand back down with another helpless shrug. "Well...I don't think she's hurt...it looks like she just fainted..." He fished around in his bag for a bottle of smelling salts and uncorked it.

"What's that?" asked Hector.

"Smelling salts. I want to see if she'll wake up..." Carefully Albert waved the bottle beneath Sylvia's nose.

Accordingly Sylvia wrinkled her nose and turned her head away. Her eyes fluttered open, squinting nearsightedly at the world. "Tom...Tommy?" she called.

 _Thank the Lord._ Albert sighed with some relief and corked the bottle. "He's here, Sylvia."

Sylvia flinched at hearing his voice. She frowned as recognition set in and tried sitting up. "What are you doing here?"

Albert cringed. "Tommy brought me here. You collapsed, Sylvia. He ran to find help."

"I told him to go, Sylvie," said Hector, trying to meet his daughters' eye.

Sylvia lay back down. "Oh." She looked away. "Thank you...but I'm fine."

Hector showed his palm. "You let the doc look at you, girl."

The girl sighed in annoyance, but nodded. She continued to avoid Albert's gaze as he peered into her eyes.

Albert was cautious and stayed a couple of steps back when he could. Sylvia clearly wasn't happy to see him and would probably just as soon put her fist in his eye. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I was fixing lunch...and then...I don't know."

"Are you hurt?"

"No...my head felt kind of strange."

"What about now? Are you dizzy? Are your eyes OK?"

Sylvia shrugged. "I guess...not dizzy now." She sounded tired.

Albert pulled back with a sigh and a slight smile of relief. "I don't think there's anything wrong. It looks like exhaustion. Have you been sleeping?"

A little bit of fire flashed in Sylvia's eyes as she sat up. "What do you care?"

He shrugged helplessly. "Just trying to find out why you fainted."

Hector looked from his daughter to the doctor with something of a guilty start. "Nobody 'round here sleeps much...'count a' me," he admitted. He coughed as if on cue.

Albert's doctor's instinct wanted to investigate Hector's cough...but first he had to be sure Sylvia was all right. He found a bucket of water by the stove and a tin cup on a shelf above. He dipped the cup into the water and handed it to Sylvia. "I think you're all right. Just rest for a minute." He gathered his instruments again and found himself smiling as Tommy clung to his mother. Hector's persistent cough nagged at him and finally he turned to regard the man.

Hector first offered Albert a wan smile. "Thank you...for...lookin' after Sylvie. How much we owe you?"

Albert tried to smile back. "Actually, I've got a two-for-one special going this week. How long have you had that cough, Mr. Webb?"

Hector frowned, then shrugged. "Dunno. Couple years, I s'pose."

Albert nodded and lifted his brows. "Do you mind if I take a look at you?"

The man exchanged glances with his daughter, then shrugged. "I s'pose. Wouldn't hurt anything." He listened to Albert's instructions and unbuttoned his shirt so Albert could listen to his heart and lungs.

Albert was patient with the old man and asked his usual questions. "Is there any pain when you cough?"

"Some."

"Have you ever coughed up blood?"

"Couple times."

Albert's brow wrinkled the further along he got in his examination. Was it always this bad? No, sometimes it was worse. Were there any other symptoms? Weakness. Finally, after taking Hector's pulse and temperature, he felt everything in him sag. _No, please...not this...not them._ He looked up reluctantly. "Well...I could always be wrong...but this looks like the late stages of something called tuberculosis," he explained.

Hector coughed again as he buttoned up his shirt. "What's that? Danged doctors, all these four-bit words..."

Albert tried smiling, but couldn't. "They used to call it consumption. Basically it's an infection in your lungs."

The man nodded slowly. "Yeah, I figured. Knew a fella back in Minnesota with that. He didn't live too long." Hector looked Albert in the eye. "So...folks don't get well from this?"

"Not always," said Albert quickly. "Sometimes if it's caught early enough, a person can live for years."

"You said 'late stage'," Hector pointed out with raised brows. He frowned. "Don't gloss it over. I'm gonna die, aren't I?"

"Eventually...yes," admitted Albert with a sigh. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Webb. If it had been caught a few years ago...if you'd had time to move to a drier climate..." He couldn't continue. Already he had caught the look of utter despair on Sylvia's face.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" demanded Sylvia, biting her lip.

Albert shook his head. He would have sooner lost a limb than to give her this horrible news. "I could give him something for the pain and the cough, but it wouldn't cure him." The young doctor closed his bag with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry."

Silence reigned in the room for a long while. Hector seemed to be accepting this news with a stoic nod. He glanced at Albert. "How long have I got, Ingalls?"

The young man could only shrug. "I can't say for sure. Four months...maybe five...maybe less. I can't see your lungs, so I don't know exactly how far along everything is."

At this news Sylvia burst into tears and crossed the room to wrap her arms around her father. "Oh, Papa!"

Her cries tore into Albert's heart. He wished that he could do something for this family...anything. "I could help you take care of him," he offered, touching Sylvia's arm.

Sylvia pulled away and shook her head. "You've...you've got enough to do."

"Well, you're going to need some help. You're already exhausted." Albert chewed his lip. "I'll ask around, all right?"

Sylvia didn't respond to this and continued to cling to her father.

Hector lightly pushed his daughter away. "Hush now, Sylvie. Cryin' won't help. Everyone's gotta go sooner or later...and Ingalls is right. You've got the boy to take care of." Presently he looked up at Albert. "S'pose I better start...puttin' things in order."

Albert responded with a slow nod. "You might want to...yes." He took off his stethoscope and put it back into his bag. He moistened his lips before speaking again. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Hector shook his head. "No...thank you. How much we owe you, doc?"

He offered a slight, kind smile. "This one's on the house." Albert rose to his feet and started for the door.

"No, no...we don't take...charity," coughed Hector. He reached for a worn leather wallet under a pile of clothes on the trunk under his bed. "Now, what do we owe you?"

Albert sighed and looked from Sylvia, to Hector, to Tommy. _I can't take any money from them._ With the straits they were in, it wouldn't feel right accepting any kind of payment...but he wasn't about to argue with Hector, especially not with as sick as the man was. Excitement might make him worse. "Two bits."

Hector knit his brows. "That ain't enough."

The young doctor offered a wan smile. "I told you, I'm running a special this week."

The tall, proud man frowned, coughed, and finally shook his head. He fished a quarter out of his wallet and handed it to Albert. "All right...thank you."

Albert pocketed the quarter. "You're welcome." He gathered bag and hat and paused in the doorway. "I'll stop in every so often...see how you're doing. Sylvia...try and get some rest."

Sylvia barely glanced at him with a reluctant nod.

Albert looked at the small family for a moment, playing with his hat, before putting it back on his head and nodding again. "All right. If you need anything, my office is real close...corner of Mission and Main Street. Take it easy." He ducked out the door. Once it was closed he closed his eyes and took in a deep, trembling breath. Albert's hands and lip were shaking in the attempt to hold in his emotions.

He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay and help...but he couldn't. Not only did Sylvia not want him to, but she was right. He had an entire town to care for. A doctor couldn't play favorites.

 _God, please...watch over them...help them..._ Albert opened his eyes and set off back down the street to his office. He continued to pray with every step.

 _ **A/N: Okay, this is as far as I've gone so far. I'll do my best to keep going, but with Fall Semester in full swing, I can't make any guarantees. Thanks for the kind words!**_


	9. Little Things

Business seemed to expand exponentially. Albert had so many patients he didn't know what to do with them. From dawn until dusk, and often beyond, his little office was the busiest place in town next to the General Store and the Saloons. Making trips to the shut-ins and house calls was put off until he could get himself a horse so he wouldn't have to walk half a day to go anywhere outside city limits. With the money he was now making, he could afford that sort of transportation. Of course there were very few riding horses for sale in Haywards. Most horses were either heavy farm drafters or showy buggy horses. He put out word at the livery stable that he was on the lookout for a steady, dependable riding horse.

Tommy continued to haunt the office. Nearly every day he would hang around the doorway, watching people come and go as Albert worked. He seemed to have warmed a little to the doctor, as now he did not run when Albert said hello. Sometimes he would hold an abbreviated conversation if there was no one else around. It might have been Tommy's way of saying 'thank you' for helping his mother.

Albert didn't mind the boy's company, but wished he could discover just why the boy was mute. Tommy would not let the young doctor examine the inside of his mouth. Albert had already ordered a set of sign language books from a catalogue, but they would not arrive for another three weeks.

Hector's next checkup came a week after his first. Tommy had been haunting the office when Albert left and ended up walking back to his house with him.

Sylvia came to the door after Albert's knock and greeted him with her usual stony expression. "What do you want?" she muttered.

Albert shouldn't have been surprised at this cold reception, but it still stung. "Just keeping my promise to look in on you and your father."

Sylvia shuffled away from the door. "All right. Come in. I don't suppose you've seen Tommy?"

"He should be right behind me." Albert smiled when the boy scurried in and shut the door.

"What? Tommy, where have you been?" asked Sylvia sternly.

Tommy hunched his shoulders and shrugged, not looking his mother in the eye.

"Oh. He was visiting at my office," said Albert quickly.

"What was he doing there?"

"He's been coming around almost every day for a few weeks now."

Sylvia pressed her lips together, looking from Tommy to Albert and then back again. Finally she firmly grabbed Tommy by the arm to make him look at her. "I told you, Tommy. No wandering off. You better not be bothering him," she added, rising from where she had bent over at the waist.

Albert cringed and quickly stepped in. "It's all right, Sylvia. He's not bothering me. I think he's just lonely."

Sylvia flinched, opened her mouth to protest further, then realized there were far worse things Tommy could be doing. If visiting Albert kept the boy out of trouble, then there couldn't be too much harm in it. She sighed and crossed her arms. "I suppose it's all right, then...but only after you've finished your chores, young man. You hear?"

Tommy nodded, throwing a look of what might have been gratitude to Albert before he went back to doing something with a small wooden toy of some sort.

Albert's mouth twitched into a slight smile as he sat down on Hector's bed. The man seemed much weaker than he had the last week. Such things weren't unusual for tuberculosis. "Hello, Mr. Webb. How are you feeling today?"

Hector coughed, trying to sit up, and eyed Albert tiredly. "Doc Ingalls...what're you doin' back so soon?"

"Just keeping my promise," answered Albert as he fished his stethoscope out of his bag.

"Huh. D'you look in on...all your patients once a week?" questioned Hector with a raised eyebrow.

"Some of them," answered Albert. He tapped the stethoscope's bell once before pressing it to Hector's sternum, listening intently.

Hector seemed uncomfortable and tired as the exam went on. "Why? Y' think ya made a mistake?" he asked when the stethoscope had been pulled away.

Albert grimaced and shook his head, folding up the instrument to put it back in his bag. "I wish I did. But no...if I look in on you every week, I can get a better idea of how quickly the disease is progressing."

Hector shrugged, unconcerned. "Eh. Sooner or later, don't matter. I'm gonna die, and there ain't nothing anyone can do about it."

That defeatist attitude was disturbing to Albert. He pulled out his watch and took Hector's pulse. "Maybe not...but that doesn't keep me from wanting to help you." The young man made a note in a small notebook before reaching into his bag and pulling out a small bottle. "Oh, here. This should help with your cough."

Hector eyed the bottle with suspicion. "What is it?"

"Licorice syrup," answered Albert.

"Heh! Will this stuff really help?" Hector's incredulous laugh soon morphed into another cough.

"It should," said Albert after the coughing fit had passed.

Hector stared at the bottle, looked at Albert, sighed, and finally pushed it back. "Don't want it."

Albert's face fell. "Why not?"

The old man looked embarrassed. He turned away and shook his head. "Won't do no good anyway."

Sylvia looked up from the stove, where she had been turning out a fresh loaf of bread from a pan. "We can't pay you," she blurted.

Hector's head snapped around to give his daughter a sharp look. His voice was equally sharp. "Sylvie!"

Sylvia was unmoved and parked her hands on her hips. "But it's true! Why won't you admit it?"

An awkward, uncomfortable silence settled over the little shack. It didn't take Hector long to regret raising his voice. He sat hunched on the edge of his bed, slowly rubbing his palms together. He couldn't even look at Albert. "I, uh...I'm sorry, Ingalls. You seem to mean well, but...I ain't gonna take somethin' I can't pay for."

Albert's eyes took in Tommy's sullen fear, Sylvia's worry, and Hector's embarrassment in turn. The overwhelming need to help in any way possible made him take Hector's hand, press the medicine into it, and close his fingers around it.

Hector pulled away from him as roughly as his weakness would allow. "Dad-blame-it Ingalls! I don't take charity."

"It's not," said Albert, rising to his feet and planting his hat back on his head. "Pay me when you can." If he was aware of the looks of shock from everyone, he didn't show it. "I'll see you next week, Mr. Webb. Sylvia," he added, tipping his hat to the gape-mouthed young woman as he headed for the door.

"Ho...hold on, now, Ingalls," called Hector, rising carefully to his feet. "Won't you stay to dinner?"

Sylvia's eyes flashed with something unpleasant...but it wasn't anger. It might have been fear.

Albert caught the look and quickly took another step toward the door. "No, thank you. I should really be going. Take it easy, now, Mr. Webb." Once more he tipped his hat to Sylvia, then waved to Tommy. "Bye, Tommy." With cautious smiles to all, he exited. Once more as he made his way back toward town, Albert felt as if he was leaving part of himself behind.

Albert's call for someone to come in and help the Webb family was answered the next day by none other than the Widow Dawson. She had never met the family, but didn't balk even after finding out Sylvia worked in the saloon. The reason for this was a mystery. Most, especially prim and proper little old ladies, avoided Sylvia like the plague. Albert was just relieved to see Mrs. Dawson's big heart extending to more than just her family of animals. She could not come by for more than a few hours a day, but even that was immensely helpful.

Two days later Albert was taking the plaster cast off of Fernando's arm and checking on how it had healed. Relief was evident in his face upon seeing that the arm had healed well. The sense of accomplishment made it easy to smile as he encouraged Fernando to move his arm and wrist. "Take it slow, now. Don't overdo it. Ah... _muevete poquito_?" he tried. While Spanish had been the easiest to catch on to, Albert didn't know nearly enough to hold a full conversation.

Fernando nodded, smiling. He understood far more English than he could speak. " _Si, doctor. Muchas gracias_." He rotated his wrist in a circle and made a fist before gathering his hat and rising back to his feet. Then he motioned to Albert. "Ah. _Doctor. Vamos_."

Albert's brows knit in confusion as the man led him outside. It deepened when he saw that Fernando was pointing out a pair of horses tethered to the hitching post. _What in the world?_

Fernando went on to unhitch one of the horses- a tall, lean sorrel gelding with an impressive blaze down his face -and hand Albert his reins with a bright smile. " _Esta bien caballo_."

While still confused, Albert nodded politely and inspected the horse. It was certainly an impressive animal. His confirmation was perfect and he had a quiet manner about him. He was a little past his prime, judging by his whiskers and slanted teeth, but looked as healthy as...well, a horse. Albert handed the reins back to Fernando. " _Esta bien_ ," he agreed.

Fernando pushed the reins back into Albert's hands with a smile. "No, no. _Esta Alberto's caballo_."

Is Albert's horse...Albert's mouth hung open in shock. "What?"

Fernando shrugged. "You look horse, _si_?" he said in broken English.

Albert nodded. He had been looking for a horse. A slight smile rose on his face. "Yes, I have. Are you saying you're willing to sell this one to me?"

Impatiently the man shook his head. "No sell. No pesos. You keep." He patted Albert's chest.

Only then did Albert understand. He sighed, sagging on his joints. "Senior Gonzales...no. I can't. It's too much." Again he tried handing the reins back.

Again Fernando pushed the reins back into Albert's hand. He sighed heavily and looked the younger man in the eye. "You...save... _Jose...mijo_." Fernando's eyes grew damp as he flattened his palm on his chest, then gripped Albert's shoulder. "Keep. _Por favor_."

Albert stared in awe at the tremendous gift he had been given. For a long while he was unable to say anything. His eyes stung with tears, but he blinked them away. Finally he smiled and gave a slow nod. "Gracias."

Fernando broke into a grin and gave Albert's shoulder an affectionate slap before walking to his other horse, mounting, and riding away at a trot.

Albert watched for a long while, smiling through wet eyes, and reflecting on a Bible passage that had been read the previous Sunday, about a good reputation being better than rubies or emeralds. It couldn't have been truer.


	10. Ghost of Intolerance

Albert put up his new horse at the livery stable and tried unsuccessfully to give him a name. The next day Fernando informed him the horses' name was 'Rojo'. Since Albert wasn't sure about the pronunciation, he used the English version of the name; Red. Luckily the horse responded in less than a week.

Getting around was so much easier with Red. Albert could trot to the outskirts of town in less than half the time it took to walk there, and carry heavier weights than by hand. His next trip to the general store was much easier to manage. Multiple times he tried to pay Fernando for the horse, but the man wouldn't take it.

Tommy noticed the horse during the last week of October and made a wide berth around the animal before wandering up to the doorway.

It had been a slow day. Albert, busily catching up on his calendar, heard little footsteps approach from behind. He looked up to see that Tommy had walked right in and leaned against the exam table.

Albert smiled and put down his pen. "Hi, Tommy. How are you doing?"

Tommy shrugged and quickly motioned to the animal outside with wide eyes.

"That's right. I got a horse," nodded Albert. "His name is Red. What do you think of him?"

Tommy held his arms several feet apart.

Albert chuckled. "I know. He's pretty big." His smile began to fade when he saw Tommy's coat had been patched at the elbows. He wished more than anything to just swoop in like a knight in shining armor and rescue the family from their situation...but he knew he couldn't. It was a very frustrating feeling. "How's your ma?" Albert wanted to know.

Again, Tommy shrugged. He rounded the corner to look at Albert's desk...then he let out a cry of fear upon seeing a carved pumpkin wearing a frightening face.

Albert followed the boy's gaze...and then laughed good-naturedly. "Don't be afraid, Tommy. It's just a pumpkin, see?" He held up the hollow vegetable for inspection. "Haven't you ever seen a Jack o' Lantern?"

Tommy wrinkled his brow in confusion at the new term and shook his head.

Albert's eyes widened a bit in astonishment. "Don't you know about Hallow's Eve?"

Again, the boy shook his head. Interest made him take a step closer.

It shouldn't have been a surprise, really. With the destitution of the family, it was likely they had little use for the holiday dedicated to ghosts and mischief-making. Albert sighed and managed a smile. "Well, that's the day when ghosts walk about. It's really a lot of fun. People dress up in costumes, go to parties, and celebrate their loved ones who have gone to Heaven. They carve these Jack o' Lanterns to scare off all the ghosts." It would probably not be wise to mention the soaping of windows to such a scamp as Tommy.

Tommy quickly stifled whatever interest he had and raised a skeptical eyebrow. Apparently his family had no use for spooks, either.

Albert sighed. "Never mind." He turned the pumpkin to face away from him and returned his gaze to Tommy. He wanted badly to find out what was wrong with Tommy's mouth so that he could eat and yet not speak. Would Sylvia ever agree to it? Tommy might. "Tommy...why can't you talk?" Albert asked quietly.

Tommy flinched, shifted his weight nervously, and shrugged.

Carefully Albert rose, crouched to Tommy's level, and lifted his eyebrows. "Can I look in your mouth? I might be able to find out what's wrong and fix it."

Immediate fear rose on Tommy's face. He stumbled backward, then turned and ran flat-out out the door and down the steps.

 _Darn it._ Albert sighed, rose back to his feet, and returned sadly to his desk. It wasn't surprising that Tommy was afraid. Anyone who had grown up with a background like his was bound to be frightened of anyone who tried to get too close. It would take time to earn more of Tommy's trust.

Heavy footfalls belonging to a man marched up the steps and into the office. As the door was propped open to let in the cool autumn breeze, the bell didn't ring.

"I'll be with you in a minute," called Albert, scratching in an appointment at 2:30 next Wednesday.

"Why do you even bother talking to that little ragamuffin?" said the cynical voice of Mayor John Farley from the doorway. A thin stream of noxious smoke curled out of his cigarette. "You know he can't answer you. Half-wits are useless enough as it is...with only one arm...well, he'd be better off if he hadn't even been born."

Hot anger made Albert quickly push up from his desk and turn to Farley with a barely contained glare. "He is not a half-wit. He's just mute...and his name is Tommy."

Farley snickered. "Oh. You would know, wouldn't you...being a 'doctor', and all."

It would be pleasant to give the man a shiner. Luckily for the loudmouthed mayor, Albert had learned to overlook personal insults by the time he was twelve. He blew out a hard breath through his nose. "Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Farley?"

Farley lazily rolled the cigarette between his fingers, dropping ash on the floor. "Your rent is due, Ingalls."

Albert frowned, caught off guard. "Uh...our contract stipulated that the rent is due on the third of every month. Today is the 29th."

The man in the expensive suit and thin mustache rolled his eyes. "I am aware of our contract, Mr Ingalls. But I will be away on personal business until the 4th of November. Therefore, the rent can be collected early or late. I would much prefer it to be early."

Albert pursed his lips, biting his tongue to keep from coming up with a scathing reply, and nodded. "Very well, Mr. Farley. I'll get you your rent." He returned to his desk, pulled out the locked cash box, and counted our four dollars. The original rent of three dollars had gone up in mid-August.

"Ah-ah-ah," said Farley, lifting his cigarette for emphasis. "Six dollars."

"You already raised it last month," reminded Albert wearily.

"I know that, Ingalls. Do not address me as if I am stupid."

"But why raise it fifty percent in one month without any notice?"

Farley glared and leaned in to use his four inches' height on Albert to his full advantage. "May I remind you, Ingalls, I own this town. My town, my rules. You don't like them...move. Now do I get my six dollars, or will I have to bring the Sheriff into this?"

 _This is outrageous! He can't do that. What is he, a mayor or a king?_ It took Albert major effort to bite his lips and keep the rising indignity and anger from making him spout further words. The truth was, despite the towns' problems, Albert didn't want to leave at all. He had made friends. He was helping others. And now there was Sylvia's family. If he left, what chance would they have?

So, Albert closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled a couple of extra silver dollars from the cash box before locking it and handing the money to the mayor. "Anything else...sir?"

Farley gave a self-satisfied smirk as he stuffed the cash into his pocket. "No. Pleasure doing business with you, 'doctor' Ingalls." Mercifully the man headed for the door. He paused just one moment before heading out. "Oh...one more thing, Ingalls...you may have to change the majority of these patients of yours."

Albert knit his brows in confusion. "I'm seeing more than half the town."

Farley glared. "I'm aware of that, Doctor. The fact remains that half the town is made up of immigrants. Mexicans, Chinese, Irish...even Jews. You've been getting rather attached to these foreigners, haven't you?"

 _Not again_. Albert let out a slow breath. "I treat all of my patients equally, regardless of race or creed."

"Exactly!" cried Farley, pointing his cigarette at Albert. "And that is the problem. Very few share your opinions of the immigrants."

"Including you, Mr Farley? I wouldn't think so. Half of your work force is made up of immigrants," reminded Albert.

"They make good workers, yes. But we must remember who was here first."

"Oh. I didn't know you were an Indian, sir. They were here first."

Farley groaned and yanked the smoldering cigarette from his mouth. "You know what I mean, Ingalls! This country belongs to Americans. Let 'em come here if they want, but just make sure they stay in their place."

Albert raised an eyebrow. "If you're asking me not to treat them, that's something I can't do. I took an oath to heal everyone, regardless of what language they speak or where they come from."

Farley made a sour face. "Of course! Treat them, if you want. All I'm saying is not to show any special treatment. You move them to the head of the line, and there's going to be trouble. Mark my words."

 _That sounds suspiciously like a threat._ Albert took a deep breath before responding. "If there's any trouble, sir, it won't be from me."

Farley nodded firmly and stuck his cigarette back into his mouth. "You just see that there isn't." With that, he took a last drag on his paper and tobacco, dropped it to the floor, and ground it beneath his heel before swaggering out the door.

Albert suppressed a shudder as he walked to the doorway and kicked the smoking butt away. He stared at Farley's back for a long while, wondering if he was related to Mr. Standish. The two could have been carbon copies of each other.

Tommy appeared suddenly from the left. Apparently he had not fled very far. He looked after Farley, made a face, and held his nose.

Albert, whose enthusiasm for tobacco had left as a child, nodded emphatically. "You can say that again."

Hallowe'en arrived without much fanfare in town. Some of the more well-off held parties, while the Mexicans celebrated Dia de los Muertes on separate days. Others just used it as another excuse to go out and get drunk.

Albert had a busy night. Before 9 PM, five men came in from a brawl at the saloon. One whiskey-soaked individual had a three-inch gash in his scalp. Use of any painkillers or sedatives was avoided to prevent unwanted drug interactions, but as it turned out they were unneeded. The man was so hammered that he hardly even knew where he was, let alone that he was getting stitches. Minutes after Albert had bandaged the man's head, his smelly patient passed out completely from the alcohol. Thankfully the young doctor did not have to put up with the stench for long, as the drunk man's friends carried him home. The other bar patrons either refused treatment or needed nothing more than bandages. It was still after midnight before Albert was able to turn in for the night. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

Between one and two in the morning the next day, the exhausted doctor was awakened by an immense crash downstairs. What in the...? Albert jolted upright, then stumbled bleary-eyed over to the window to see what was going on.

The night was dark, but the reason for the commotion was clear. A group of rowdy ne'er-do-wells were down in the street making a ruckus in front of the doctor's office.

Albert groaned and shuffled back to bed. Can't a body get any sleep around here? 'Happy Hallowe'en', indeed.

No sooner had Albert lifted the covers to climb back in than there was another terrific crash from downstairs. This time it was the unmistakable sound of glass breaking. Apparently someone was trying to smash his windows.

In the twenty five seconds it took Albert to light his lamp, yank on a pair of pants, shove his feet into a pair of shoes and tie them, his mood had gone from tired annoyance to outright anger. It increased tenfold when he reached the bottom floor of his office.

Some seasonal tricks had been expected, like soaping his windows or turning the chairs outside topsy-turvy. This went far beyond childish pranks and dove headfirst into the realm of malicious vandalism. Every single window had been smashed, the exam table had been upended, and splashes of bright green paint clung to what was left of the windows. Already the perpetrators had fled down the street with jeers and catcalls following them into the night.

Anger was joined with bewilderment and hurt as Albert inspected the damage. Who would do this? he wondered sadly. All I wanted to do was help, and this is the thanks I get? The young doctor dodged glass shards and walked outside to see what the vandals had done with the green paint. His heart sank further upon reading the message of hatred splashed on his walls; 'Whites first, colored last. Learn or go home, Dr Frankenstein'.

That was all it took to know what sort of spook was behind this horrid defacement...John Farley, the bigoted mayor. Albert almost would have preferred that the mess had been made by an honest-to-goodness ghost.

While tempted to march down to Farley's office and demand what was going on, fatigue took over. With a weary sigh, Albert shuffled back upstairs. He could clean up the mess in the morning.


	11. Tongue-Tied

"What happened?"

Albert, sweeping up the shards of broken glass on his front porch on the first of November, froze upon hearing the feminine voice. He recognized it instantly and his head snapped up in pleasant surprise. The doctor had to blink to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

But he wasn't. There stood Sylvia, Tommy's hand in hers, wearing her shawl and looking...concerned? Worried? It was hard to tell.

"Sylvia..." Albert blinked twice more and managed a polite smile for the two of them. "Tommy. Hello."

Tommy waved shyly before continuing to gape at the horrid mess all around them.

"Ah...it's nice to see you," faltered Albert, leaning on his broom as he looked at his former sweetheart. "How's your pa?"

"No change," shrugged Sylvia. "Mrs Dawson is with him. But we heard the noise last night, even from the edge of town. What happened?"

"Oh," Albert sighed as he looked at the damage. "A few roustabouts broke into the office and made a real mess of things."

"Who?" Sylvia wanted to know.

Albert cringed. "I don't know for sure, but I have a pretty good idea. It looks like someone doesn't want me around anymore."

Sylvia flinched, genuinely confused. "Why not?" When Albert looked at her in surprise, Sylvia backtracked. "I mean...who would want to oust a doctor? Every town needs one."

The young man shrugged. "I think it has something to do with the fact that I don't make any distinctions as to who I treat, whether it's race or creed."

Sylvia's nod was slow...distracted. "Oh." An awkward silence followed, during which she glanced at Albert once. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

 _She cares?_ Albert shook his head, trying not to show how relieved he was at her concern. "No...but thank you for asking." He tilted his head to one side. "Is that why you came up here?" he asked cautiously.

Quickly Sylvia shook her head. "No. The reason I came is...is Tommy," she admitted with reluctance.

Albert lifted his brows, trying to stifle the hope that began to rise. "Oh? Can I help you?" he asked, leaning the broom against the temporarily boarded-in windows.

The young woman sighed and refused to look Albert in the eye. "Probably not. No one else has been able to. But you said something about helping Tommy to...to speak. I wanted to see if..." Sylvia colored, staring at the floor in embarrassment.

An eagerness to help any way he could made Albert straighten his spine and nod. "Oh! Well, come on inside. I'll see what I can do." He swept an arm aside to let Sylvia and Tommy go in first. He followed soon after and motioned to the chairs along the far wall. The glass inside had already been swept up, but Albert was still self-conscious about the appearance of his office and hastily straightened the sheet on the exam table. "I'm sorry about the mess...and the smell," he added, picking up the drop cloths he had put down earlier that morning. The green paint had been whitewashed less than an hour before.

Sylvia's nose wrinkled as she inspected the still-wet walls. "There are worse smells than paint. Redecorating?"

"No, but someone else tried to. Apparently they thought green would make a better color than white."

"Ugh. As if breaking the windows wasn't enough."

"You're telling me. Go ahead and have a seat. I'll just be a minute."

Nervously Sylvia sat down in one of the chairs with Tommy beside her. The little boy didn't seem much interested in sitting still and squirmed with boredom.

Albert rolled up his sleeves to the elbow, poured water in the washbasin, and scrubbed his hands with the thin bar of soap. When his hands were clean, he rinsed and dried them before picking up his stethoscope and making his way back to the pair. It took an effort to keep his heart from pounding like a sledgehammer, but he managed. "It'll be a little easier he sits on the table. Is that all right?"

Wordlessly Sylvia nodded.

Albert turned to Tommy with a smile. "Hey, Tommy. How are you doing? Your ma wants me to take a look at you. Can you climb up on that table over there for me?"

Tommy hesitated, then nodded. He rose to his feet and scrambled carefully onto the exam table, legs dangling over the side.

Albert smiled again in relief. "All right, let's start by listening to your heart." He swung the stethoscope off his neck, put the earpieces into his ears, and pressed the bell to the boy's chest, nodding at the predictably strong heartbeat. When he noticed Tommy's puzzled expression, he pulled the earpieces out and handed them to Tommy. "You want to listen?"

Tommy nodded eagerly. His eyes grew as wide as saucers when Albert let him listen.

 _So far, so good._ Albert nodded and moved on. The idea was to keep both Tommy and his mother at ease, reinforcing the fact that Albert wasn't going to hurt either of them. He would need at least some trust if he had any hope of helping Tommy find his voice. Next the young doctor produced a small reflex hammer. "Okay. Sounds good to me. Now, do you know what this is?"

Tommy wrinkled his brows and shook his head.

Albert smiled. "Watch." He gave the spot below Tommy's knee a light tap, pleased to see the leg respond normally. He chuckled at Tommy's expression and checked the other knee. "Looks good."

The basic exam continued with Albert checking Tommy's eyes, nose, and ears. Finally it was time to move on to his mouth. Albert expected something of a fight here, so he moved slowly, head mirror already in place. "All right. Now I need to look down your throat."

Predictably Tommy pulled away and shook his head.

"Tommy, you be good," said Sylvia sternly.

"It's all right, Tommy," said Albert in a gentler tone. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. I just want to look."

After a long hesitation, Tommy finally obliged by opening his mouth, making a face when Albert used a tongue depressor.

Albert peered carefully at Tommy's vocal cords. They seemed normal enough. Frowning thoughtfully, he looked at Tommy's tongue, and lifted his eyebrows when the tongue wouldn't move very far. Further examination revealed a narrow strip of tissue holding the tongue firmly to the lower palate. It moved just far enough for the boy to swallow, but no farther. The young doctor pulled back in relief and surprise _. That's all? He's only tongue tied?_ "Sylvia, has his tongue always been like this?"

Sylvia frowned, then rose to see what Albert was talking about. "Yes. Ever since he was born."

Albert finally gave in the smile. "Well, if that's all that's keeping him from talking, then I can honestly say it wouldn't be any problem to fix it."

A mixture of surprise, suspicion, and just a bit of hope made Sylvia's eyes widen. "Fix it? You mean...he could actually talk? I thought he was mute."

Happily the young doctor shook his head. "He's just tongue-tied, Sylvia. A bit more than usual, but still. The problem is actually fairly common."

"And you said you can fix it? How?" Sylvia raised an eyebrow.

"Easily. All it would take is clipping the part of tissue that's holding his tongue in place," explained Albert. "That sort of operation is done all the time-"

Sylvia took a step back and paled. "Operation? You mean put him to sleep and cut on him?"

Tommy's eyes widened and he whimpered, scooting away from Albert.

Albert sighed. He should have expected this reluctance. "He would be sedated, yes...and his mouth would be sore for a while. But it's really nothing to worry about. Doctors have been doing them for years with hardly any problems."

Sylvia's next stare was harsh. "How many have you done?"

 _She had to ask._ Albert cringed. "I just graduated from medical school a few months ago, so...one...well, actually I assisted with one, but-"

"Then how do I know nothing is going to go wrong?" Sylvia's narrow, untrusting eyes peered harshly at the young doctor.

"Well..." Albert felt his shoulders sag. He wanted to be honest, but at the same time was reluctant to give the woman too many details. Surgery wasn't pretty. Often it could be even more stressful for the parent than the child. "Like I said, it's simple; about one of the simplest operations possible, and one of the first I learned."

"What would happen to him, exactly?" she wanted to know.

"I'd sedate him, open his mouth, and clip just enough of the tissue on the bottom of his mouth to free up the tongue. Then, I'd wait for him to wake up. It wouldn't take any more than fifteen or twenty minutes and shouldn't require any more than a few stitches," explained Albert in the calmest tone he could manage. He reached to pat the top of Tommy's head, but the boy shrank away.

Sylvia chewed her lower lip as she considered the procedure that her former sweetheart was suggesting. After a long pause she spoke again. "Will it hurt him?"

Albert was able to shake his head. "No. He'd be asleep the whole time. There might be a little pain when he wakes up, but it would be gone in a day or so. A boy his age would heal in a matter of days."

The young woman knit her brows, brown eyes going from Albert to Tommy. "Didn't Laura- Mrs Wilder -know sign language? Could you just teach him to talk with his hands?"

Albert let out a slow breath of disappointment. "Well...I don't know sign language, but...I've considered it. Since Tommy's never spoken a word, it's going to take time for him to learn to speak even after the operation. In the meantime sign language would give him a way to communicate. I've ordered a few books."

Sylvia nodded with a bit of relief. "Maybe that would be better. I'd like to look at those books."

Albert couldn't hide his disappointment. "So...you're not agreeing to the surgery?" It was hard to believe. Something every mother wanted to hear, according to Caroline Ingalls, was her child's voice. While Tommy had been conceived in violence, the idea that Sylvia would hold her son back because of that didn't even bear thinking about. _She can't be that cold. There has to be another reason._ Fear, perhaps.

Sylvia responded with a light sigh. "I don't know." Absently she straightened the messy locks of Tommy's hair. Apparently this was not done often, as her touch made the boy flinch and turn to her in surprise. Sylvia quickly let her hand drop. "I'll think about it. In the meantime, we should go. I need to see to Papa." With a grunt she lifted the boy down off the table.

 _But-_ Albert stifled the feelings of impatience that rose upon hearing Sylvia's decision. _Don't push. She is his mother, after all._ He had to nod. "All right. Take as much time as you need...just know that the older he gets, the more difficult it would be."

Sylvia answered with a curt nod and took her son by the hand. "I _said_ I'll think about it."

Albert could only nod again. Belatedly he stepped forward to see Sylvia and Tommy to the door. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Sylvia opened her mouth and turned to Albert for a moment. She looked as if she wanted to say something. At the last minute she turned away, closing her mouth and fixing her gaze on the door. "No. Good...good day, Dr. Ingalls." She turned to Tommy. "Wave goodbye, Tommy."

Tommy responded with a sullen look. Reluctantly he obeyed. As his mother led him away the little boy fixed Albert with a pleading and almost accusatory gaze, as if he had expected the doctor to do something to fix his home situation.

The look tore into Albert's heart. _I'm trying, Tommy. I wish I could do more for you, but your mother isn't letting me._ Albert managed a smile for the boy just the same and gave an encouraging nod. "Bye, Tommy. Be good and listen to your mother, now."

Tommy slipped his hand back out of Sylvia's and turned to face Albert. Then he began making gestures and motioning to his mouth. He might have been asking a question or making a statement. It was difficult to tell which. Either way, the boy seemed desperate to get his point across. When Albert just shrugged in helpless ignorance Tommy scowled, stomped his foot, and turned away. This time he didn't fight when Sylvia took his hand again.

Without another word mother and son walked out of the doctor's office, down the steps, and off down the street.

Albert was left to lean in the doorway. He wasn't aware that he was staring at them until someone walked by and laughed.

"Heh-heh-heh! Never figgered that's the kinda woman you'd want, Ingalls," sneered Garret Duncan, one of Farley's cronies. He was smoking a thick cigar and wore a faded blue shirt, his substantial paunch bulging between suspenders and hanging over the edge of his trousers. "I mean, considerin' the, uh...'work' she does."

"She's not like that," said Albert, throwing a stern gaze at the man. "Just because she works in the saloon doesn't mean she's-"

"A whore? Eh, whadda _you_ know, Ingalls? You an' yer fancy booklearnin...you ain't hardly old 'nough to shave yet!" scoffed Garret. He took a long drag on his cigar and blew out a hefty smoke ring before turning to watch Sylvia. "Eh, can't really say I blame 'ya, though...she's a purty one," he mused, rubbing the black stubble on his chin.

"You watch what you're saying about her," said Albert, rising to his full height. At five feet seven inches, it wasn't much.

Garret raised an eyebrow at the younger, smaller man, all the amusement gone from his face. "I don't gotta watch nuthin' with you, boy. You better watch yerself." he pointed his cigar at the younger man for emphasis. As if to mock his boldness the man's lungs suddenly rebelled. Garret choked, coughed, and hacked until he had worked up a wad of mucus, which he spat into the street. Upon noticing the broken glass on Albert's porch the sleazy grin returned. "Hey now, what happened there? Shew-ee! Big mess you got. Somebody have an accident?"

Albert bit back the anger at Garret's mouth and retrieved his broom. "Someone vandalized my office last night."

Garret chuckled with glee, as if he couldn't be any more tickled at the idea. "Las' night, eh? Fancy that."

Albert gave the man a sideways glance. "Anyone you know?"

Garret shrugged with indifference, still grinning. "Maybe iw'was a ghost." Another hacking cough racked him, and he nearly doubled over in clearing his throat.

Albert pursed his lips and leaned on his broom. "A ghost is all you're going to be if you keep smoking, Duncan."

Garret glared at the younger man before defiantly stuffing the cigar between his teeth. "Y' better sweep, boy. Wouldn't want nobody gettin' cut on that glass." Hitching his pants a few inches higher on his hips, he turned and sauntered away.

When Albert returned to Tanner's General Store later that afternoon to pick up another can of whitewash, he had been waiting for Ned to be available for exactly five seconds before an eager feminine voice burst upon his ears. He flinched and turned to see who it was.

"Oh, Dr. Ingalls," called the short, grinning personage of Mattie Steiner. The forty-something postmistress was a chatterbox, but not in the ear-grinding, gossiping way Mrs. Oleson had been. She was standing over by a rack of bonnets chatting with someone from her knitting class and waved eagerly to Albert. "So nice to see you."

"Hello, Mrs. Steiner," greeted Albert, tipping his hat to the lady and hoping she would go back to speaking with her fellow knitter. Speaking with Mattie always ended up being rather one-sided. Even her poor husband could hardly get a word in edgewise when she opened her mouth. Herb Steiner was naturally quiet anyway and well-suited to his profession of bookstore owner. Some speculated Herb had taken to selling books just to have a few hours of quiet.

"Isn't this Providential? I was just thinking of you." Mattie laughed and came closer. She stopped only to pass on a recipe to whatever friend she had been chatting with and made straight for Albert, talking all the while. "As a matter of fact I'd made up my mind to go over to your office and speak with you about something, and here you come right in the blessed door! Fancy that! It is a small world, isn't it?"

"It is," agreed Albert. Already his smile grew strained. Hopefully Ned would finish quickly with the man ahead so Albert could get his paint and leave. Poor Mattie meant well, of course. She was active in the church, had raised four children, and had one of the kindest hearts in town next to the Widow Dawson. It was just her tongue never stopped moving. "What is it you wanted to speak with me about? Are you feeling well?"

"Why, I'm just fine and dandy, Doctor. Never better! The Lord's been good to us. But I heard about what happened to your office," Mattie said, her smile dissolving into a look of horror. "How dreadful! I don't care if it was Hallowe'en, those ruffians had no right to do such a thing. It's just plain shameful, that's what it is. Oh, and I do hope you weren't hurt," she added anxiously.

"No, I'm fine." Albert's strained smile was fading as he discreetly glanced back at the counter. Apparently the man at the front of the line was out on a major shopping excursion. Beans, flour, nails...and the list went on.

"Thank Heavens for that! It certainly does my heart good to hear it. You don't know how worried I was when I heard about those broken windows. All that glass could slice someone to ribbons. They didn't steal anything, did they? With the characters in this town, it wouldn't surprise me. There's been stories right and left of folks breaking into doctors offices and stealing whatever they can get their hands on. Mostly drugs, of course. Can you imagine? Stealing from the one who could sew you up? That's gratitude for you! But was anything missing?" Mattie's green eyes went wide.

"No," answered Albert, who by then was feeling rather dizzy. "Nothing was missing. I made it downstairs before they could get in." Again he glanced at Ned, who had gone into the storeroom for a bucket of tar. _Please hurry._

Mattie wiped her brow in exaggerated relief. "Well, thank goodness! The last thing we need is another addict running amuck. Oh, don't get me wrong, I wasn't implying there are any addicts in town, and certainly not any that visit you. I know those drugs do have their place. Even morphine, I suppose. But such a dreadful effect that stuff can have-"

Albert pressed his lips together with impatience. "Yes, I know, Mrs. Steiner. As a matter of fact I don't carry morphine or any other opiates for just that reason." He hadn't meant to interrupt, but having dealt with an addiction himself as a teenager, it was something he felt very passionately about.

Mattie took a step back, startled. "I beg your pardon, Doctor. I had no idea. Well, so much the better! Have you told the Sheriff about the vandalism yet?"

 _My ears are ringing._ Albert glanced at the ceiling for patience, then closed his eyes. "Yes, ma'am...not that it did any good. Without any witnesses he can't arrest anyone." The man ahead was paying his bill. Albert turned back to Mattie with thinly-veiled annoyance. "Will you please excuse me, Mrs. Steiner? I still have a lot of cleaning to do."

A look of dismay came across the woman's face. "Oh, but Dr. Ingalls, I still need to speak with you!"

 _You have been._ Albert walked to the front of the line. "Can it wait a few minutes?"

Mattie sighed. "Well, I suppose. It's just that you have a package waiting for you down at the post office and I was going to ask if you wanted to pick it up yourself, or have it delivered. I think it's those books you've been waiting for. I _could_ be wrong...it's none of my business, of course, but-"

"Books?" Albert straightened his spine eagerly. "You mean the sign language books?"

"Well, I'm sure I don't know. It's not as if I open other people's mail." Mattie seemed aghast at the very idea. "But they are from the American School for the Deaf."

"That's it, all right."

"Oh! Well, then. Would you like to pick them up, or should I bring them to you?"

Albert couldn't keep the smile from his face. "I'll pick them up, thank you." Excitement rose. He could hardly wait to open the parcel and begin studying the books...and show them to Sylvia. His only hope was that she would change her mind about the operation to loosen Tommy's tongue.

 _ **A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to update! I know where I want this story to go, but working out all the kinks is going to take bit longer than I thought. Hang in there!**_


	12. Trust

Before the devastating event that had stolen her childhood, Sylvia had been a good student. She had excelled in reading and writing and was close behind Albert in mathematics. Early motherhood had brought that to halt. She hardly even had time to read anymore.

Albert's fears that Sylvia would grow impatient with sign language were unfounded. Her uncertainty about the mention of surgery was quickly overshadowed by her eagerness to learn. In only two days she had all but mastered the alphabet and was moving on to words. By comparison Albert's normally nimble fingers felt slow and clumsy. In days, Sylvia was the one correcting him. Despite this it took quite a bit of convincing for her to agree to be Tommy's teacher. She knew she was impatient and didn't want to scare Tommy away from the idea.

As it was, Tommy showed very little interest for the first week or so. The look on his face told his mother plainly he thought the new motions and gestures were silly. Sylvia was inclined to be offended at this. After all, it was he she was doing this for. But Albert insisted on patience.

Between Hector's weekly checkups and the twice-weekly sign language lessons, Albert was seeing much more of Sylvia. It sometimes meant less sleep, but he didn't mind. His heart warmed in seeing how much Sylvia wanted to be able to hold conversations with her son. She did love Tommy. It seemed she just didn't know how to show it. Sylvia's mother had died when she was five years old. Mothering was something the young woman simply didn't know how to do.

Midway through the second week the sign language lessons seemed to take off. Albert made the suggestion that he and Sylvia try to hold a conversation without speaking. The challenge was accepted, as much out of an eagerness to learn as a slight competitive spirit.

Tommy saw the interaction between Albert and his mother...and was beginning to resent it. What was his friend doing ignoring him? He thought the doctor would help! The boy watched their hands move for half an hour before growing jealous and loudly slamming his palm on the table to get their attention.

Sylvia sighed unhappily. "Tommy..."

Albert held up his palm. "Just a minute. What's the matter, Tommy? Do you want to know what's going on?"

Tommy hesitated, glancing at his mother, then nodded.

Albert shrugged. "We're talking, Tommy. It's what we've been trying to show you. You can talk, too, using your hands. Do you want to try?"

The little boy chewed his lip and considered the proposition. For a long while he looked from his mother, to Albert, to Hector, who had fallen asleep reading his worn Bible. Finally he looked Albert in the eye and nodded.

Albert smiled and flipped through the book to find an easy word.

Sylvia frowned. "Shouldn't you start with the alphabet?"

"He doesn't know how to read or spell yet. It'll be easier to teach him simple words first," reasoned Albert. "A baby doesn't learn letters first."

"But half of the signs take two hands," protested Sylvia.

"We'll start simple...here." Albert came to the front of the book. "'Boy'. You're a boy, Tommy. It's like tipping your hat, see? 'Boy'." He showed Tommy the sign.

Tommy squinted at the book, then at Albert, then at his mother. After about a minute he hesitantly imitated Albert's sign.

The young doctor broke into a grin. "Right! 'Boy'! That's good, Tommy. How about this one; 'girl'." Albert made a thumbs-up sign and ran his thumb along his jawline. "See? Like tying bonnet strings. Your ma is a girl. Mrs Dawson is a girl. 'Girl'."

Tommy again glanced at the book before copying Albert. He went on to learn 'eat', 'yes', and 'no'. He practiced these words before growing bored and impatient. He wanted to make sentences. The child reached for the book and began flipping through it on his own.

Sylvia reached to stop him. "Tommy, no. That's rude."

Albert had to hide his delight. "Well, at least he wants to learn. Slow down, Tommy!" he laughed, putting his hand in the center of the book. "What are you looking for? What word do you want to learn?"

Tommy marched over to Sylvia and patted her shoulder, hurriedly going through his own gesture that represented his mother.

"Oh." Albert nodded, feeling foolish. Of course Tommy wanted to speak with his mother...and know what to call her. He flipped back to the beginning of the book and found the words he needed. "Here, Tommy. 'Mother'." Albert spread his fingers and tapped his thumb to his chin. "Or, 'ma'. It means the same thing."

Tommy learned the sign quickly, then peered back in the book. He ended up picking up fifteen signs before Albert called a halt to the lesson to avoid information overload. But the boy had what he wanted. Biting his lip, he turned to his mother. His hands were shaking as he signed to her.

Sylvia was astonished...and puzzled. "'Mother angry'? No, I'm not."

Tommy's lip wobbled as he nodded and signed it again. 'Mother angry. Boy sad. Boy eat. Mother angry. Grandfather sick. Mother give. Grandfather eat. Mother give. Grandfather sleep. Boy sad. Mother angry.' The words didn't make much sense taken one at a time, but the order Tommy put them in and the expression on his face made it clear what he was saying.

Sylvia's mouth hung open in shock even as her eyes misted. Her son's first words to her were negative. "What's he saying?"

Albert grimaced. All he saw was confirmation of what he had suspected for weeks. Tommy felt neglected. "He thinks...you care more about your father...than you do about him," he said slowly.

"What?" Sylvia asked, sharply turning to Tommy and reaching for him. "Tommy-"

Tommy cringed and ducked. His body language was obviously fearful.

Sylvia gasped in recognition. In the years after her mothers' death she had grown fearful of her father. For the first time she saw that fear reflected in the eyes of her son. There was also hurt...and sadness. All the sharp looks, the quick flashes of anger, the lack of caring...everything she had done to her son came back to her. She shrank back in horror. "I didn't even know...I had no idea...Tommy," she said, turning to him with tears in her eyes, "I'm sorry." She reached for him again, slower this time.

Tommy took a step back, still fearful.

The look in her son's eyes was like a knife in Sylvia's heart. She slid to her knees and edged up to him. "Tommy, I'm so sorry you think I've forgotten about you." She opened her arms for him. "Will you forgive me?"

Tommy lifted his head just a touch. He looked back at Albert, whose eyes were also suspiciously wet, and gave him a questioning look. It was only after the doctor had nodded that Tommy stepped forward and accepted the embrace he had been missing for so long.

When tears had been spent and Albert politely decided to excuse himself for the day, Tommy seemed relieved.

"Wait...Dr Ingalls?" called Sylvia just before the doctor left.

Albert paused to turn back to her. "Yes?"

The corners of Sylvia's mouth twitched as she looked at him. "Thank you."

Is she smiling at me? Albert had to quickly squash any ideas of rekindling romance, as much as it made his heart soar. Let it go. It's been over for years. Sylvia was giving him a look of gratitude and nothing more. Courteously Albert tipped his hat. "You're welcome. Don't just study when I'm around. Keep it up. You'll be holding conversations before you know it." He looked down at Tommy, smiled, and backed out the door. "Have a good evening."

It was a difficult thing to turn and walk back down the street, but still, Albert's heart was just a bit lighter. He knew complete reconciliation would not come overnight. At least this was a step in the right direction.

Tension between Albert and Sylvia seemed to ease almost exponentially after that. Every visit was a little easier than the last. Sylvia's beautiful smile began making appearances again. Trust was slowly returning...along with something else.

Much as Albert tried to stifle it, he found the old attraction of his youth returning. He knew Sylvia was softening and it made him all the more enamored of her. Watching her sign with Tommy brought more warm feelings than were strictly necessary. He found himself stealing glances at her and smiling. When caught, he always blushed and quickly turned away for a few minutes. Then he was back to staring again.

When at his office Albert always berated himself for these stolen moments. It wasn't as if Sylvia was showing any interest in him. Her attitude was changing in turn, but Albert didn't see or expect any kind of romance. Putting one patient ahead of another was asking for trouble. It wasn't as if Albert didn't have enough trouble already.

The vandalism on Hallowe'en was not an isolated incident. While there were no more broken windows, there was a constant stream of racial slurs painted on his walls and regular dirty looks thrown his way while he was out. Farley and his associates had even begun a small boycott of Albert's practice. Despite the man's long reach, it didn't get very far. Those who respected Albert as a doctor did not stop going to him for help, and those who didn't had hardly ever paid anyway. Of course the rejection of those few still hurt. Often did Albert end up speaking with Father Dougherty about his faith. Always Father Dougherty's advice was the same; to pray for his enemies, but not let his guard down. Farley could be dangerous if trifled with too long. It was high time the town held an election to bring in a good mayor and oust the overreaching miser.

One afternoon while Albert was examining Hector and Sylvia was outside teaching Tommy the signs for 'bucket', 'water', and 'help', among others, the elder Webb cleared his perpetually rough throat.

"You...you always spend this much time with your patients, Ingalls?" he asked.

The question caught Albert off guard. He lowered his stethoscope with a confused frown. "What do you mean, Mr Webb?"

Hector coughed and raised an eyebrow. "You're spendin' an awful lot of time over here. You got enough time for the rest of your patients?"

He thinks I'm giving him special treatment. Albert shrugged. "Well...there's never enough time for everything. A doctor's work is never done," he quipped with a slight smile. "And at the rate Farley is going, I might not have to worry about anyone else."

Hector didn't smile at the joke. "You know what I'm talkin' about, Ingalls. It's my Sylvia you been seein' more, not me."

Albert felt a blush of embarrassment creep up on his cheeks and he cringed, about to open his mouth to deny it. I haven't been that obvious, have I?"

Hector showed his palm. "Oh, don't say it ain't so. I seen it, clear as day. And don't go thinkin' I'm gonna come after you, either," he added, seeing the look of worry on Albert's face. "Not like I can do much, anyway." A slight look of amusement came and went.

Albert closed his eyes and sighed. "Mr Webb, I don't know what to say except I'm sorry. I was hoping it wasn't that obvious, but-" he shrugged helplessly.

Hector slowly shook his head. "I kinda wondered if it'd happen. Now I don't have a problem with it."

What did he say? Albert flinched and lifted his head in unabashed surprise. "You don't, sir?"

"No. You always been a kindly fella. Never seen it 'till recently, but it's true. You're both growed now...you got an education, your own place, and a good steady job," Hector pointed out.

"Th-thank you, sir," sputtered a wide-eyed Albert.

"Now if anything happens to me-"

"Don't say that, Mr. Webb."

Hector waved his hand dismissively. "It's happening, ain't it? When it does, I want you to promise me something."

Albert moistened his lips nervously. "Yes, sir?"

Hector looked down at his hands, blinking at some kind of moisture in his eyes. "I want you...I want you to look after my Sylvie. Make sure she's provided for...her and the boy."

The young doctor felt as if he had just been mowed down by Hector's request. Is he saying what he thinks I'm saying? It was hard to believe that a man who had once tried to kill him was now asking him to look after Sylvia. Albert probably should have been over the moon with joy. In truth he felt nothing but intimidation. "Mr Webb...there's nothing I'd like more than to do what you ask, but...to be honest, I don't know if Sylvia would let me."

Hector lifted his brows and crossed his lanky arms. "I ain't askin' you to marry her. I'm askin' you to take care of her for me."

Albert cleared his throat nervously. "I realize that, sir, but...I just don't think Sylvia would agree to it. She's awfully independent and...it doesn't look like she thinks much of me."

Hector nodded slowly. "She's been...bitter...for a few years. She's startin' to change her mind...a little...but you gotta give her time."

"I realize that," nodded Albert. "I don't want to push her."

Hector nodded back in satisfaction. "Good. Now will you promise me?"

Albert sighed. He felt as if he'd been drafted for a type of service he wanted to do, but was unprepared for. What else can I do? Finally the young man nodded. "I promise, Mr. Webb." An idea rose, and it was out before he could stifle it. "Would it...be all right if I took Sylvia to dinner Sunday evening?"

Hector's mouth twitched with slight amusement and he gave Albert a look of surprise. "You'll have to ask Sylvie about that."

As if on cue, the front door opened, and in walked Sylvia and Tommy, holding a bucket between them. "Papa? Did you call me?"

Hector turned pointedly to Albert and lifted his eyebrows. The ball was in his court. "Not me."

Me and my big mouth. Albert was unaccountably nervous as he cleared his throat and turned to Sylvia. "Ah...Sylvia, would you like a break from cooking sometime?" Oh, brother!

Sylvia knit her brows in confusion. "What? Are you offering to cook?" she asked with amusement.

Albert shook his head. "No. I'd like to take you to dinner."

The young woman's eyes widened and she sat down in shock at the sudden request. Her first instinct was to suspect an ulterior motive. Sylvia squinted at the young doctor and crossed her arms. "Why?"

"Like I said, I thought you might like a break from cooking one evening...that you might like to get out of the house," said Albert, hoping he didn't sound as nervous as he felt.

"What about Papa and Tommy?" Sylvia asked pointedly. "Tommy's never been to a restaurant before and Papa can't leave the house."

"I'm sure Mrs. Dawson wouldn't mind coming in for an evening."

Sylvia opened her mouth to protest and say she had to work, but that wasn't true. Sunday was the one day she had off. A small part of her was tempted to say yes. Albert was right; she did need a break from the constant caretaking of both her father and her son. Another part, something she was trying to ignore, wanted to spend more time with Albert without the concern of anything else to distract her. She wanted to find out why he had become a doctor, and why he had come to California to start his practice...and whether or not his constant presence held something else behind it. Now that she thought of it, Albert was just as handsome as he had been years before, and just as kind- stop it! she told herself. You can't trust him. "When?" she found herself asking.

Albert tried to keep the hope that Sylvia would say yes off his face. "Sunday evening...about five?"

Sylvia pressed her lips together. She wanted to say 'no'. "I'll think about it," she said instead, then wondered why.

Albert successfully wiped the coming grin off his face and nodded. "All right. Take your time." He stuffed his stethoscope back into his bag and rose to his feet. "I'll be going now. Take care of yourself, Hector. Tommy, keep up the good work with the signing. Sylvia...goodbye." With a tip of his hat, the doctor left.

Sylvia bided her time and waited until Friday to inform Albert that she had agreed to his request, and asked him not to take her anywhere fancy. Albert was a regular bundle of nerves all Sunday, right up until the point where he picked up Sylvia. She seemed to try acting nonchalant about the whole matter but her nerves were evident as well. Her posture was defensive and she said repeatedly that she didn't want to stay out too late.

The place for the evening's vittles was the hotel restaurant down the street from Albert's office; the only one in town that didn't include a saloon. It served simple, home-cooked meals and its patrons were mostly working class bachelors who couldn't cook but could afford to eat out every so often. It wasn't very busy, as most ate Sunday dinners with family. Less than half the tables were filled. Albert and Sylvia were seated with menus in minutes. Sylvia paled a little seeing the prices, but eventually ordered a plate of something called spaghetti. Albert had the same.

Conversation began very haltingly. With as much as the pair has been seeing each other, they had not engaged in a meaningful conversation since their youth. There were a lot of awkward pauses and clearing of throats before any real progress was made. Albert decided to start with as inauspicious a subject as possible; the weather. He asked about snow in particular and asked how likely it was they would get a white Christmas. The innocent question ended up with an unexpected but welcome side effect...it made Sylvia smile.

"Snow?" she scoffed. "Albert, this is California, not Minnesota or Iowa. The only blizzard you're likely to find here is in the mountains...unless someone opens a feather bed."

Albert chuckled at the image and was pleased to see Sylvia's smile widen. "I suppose you're right." He turned to look at his hands for a moment before continuing. "Why doesn't it snow here? It seems cold enough."

Sylvia shrugged. "I don't know." She played with her napkin. "How are your folks?"

This drew a wistful look from the young doctor. "The last I heard, they were all well."

Sylvia nodded slowly. The Ingalls had been one of the few merciful families in Walnut Grove when the scandal of her unwed pregnancy had been found out. "I'm glad. Do you hear from them often?"

Albert shrugged. "I try to send a letter at least once a month. They reply as soon as they're able."

Sylvia opened her mouth again, about to ask if Albert had mentioned meeting her again, but decided against it at the last minute.

The conversation continued. When the spaghetti arrived, neither found they were especially hungry. Both were more interested in talking. As the evening drew on Albert was pleased to see Sylvia smile every so often and even laugh once or twice. He found himself doing the same. For a moment he was transported back to Walnut Grove, before the tragedy...before the scandal...before their hearts had been broken by circumstance. It was surprising to find just how much they still had in common. What happened to us? wondered Albert sadly. Has that much really changed?

Dinner ended at just before eight, when Sylvia asked what time it was and hastened to her feet, saying she needed to let Mrs Dawson get home and put Tommy to bed. While disappointed at the abrupt end, Albert nodded, paid the bill, and escorted Sylvia outside.

No sooner had Albert and Sylvia turned down the first side street when too many figures to count leapt out from a dark alley and brought Albert to the ground with flying tackles from three sides. Before the young doctor had a chance to catch his breath he was being pummeled with three sets of fists...maybe more.

Sylvia screamed and turned to flee. Albert's cries of pain made her turn around in anguish. "Albert!" she shrieked, running up to the fray and pounding on the back of one of the men. A hard shove send her into the ground. "Stop it! Stop it!" She rose back to her feet and returned to hitting Albert's attackers as hard as she could.

The shadowy brutes ignored her. Albert fought as well as he could, sending a few well-aimed punches and kicks and connecting once in a while, but he was completely overpowered. "Sylvia! Run!"

Sylvia saw one of the men rise off Albert and come for her. She screamed and ran, but the man was faster and grabbed her arms. The young woman thrashed wildly, trying to get away.

Albert's foot connected with the nose of one of the attackers, who cried out and stumbled back. The other drew a knife and sliced a deep cut into Albert's right bicep.

The next instant another three men came running out of the shadows, shouting at the top of their lungs. Both Albert and Sylvia expected them to join the fight. What neither expected was for them to go after the attackers.

A balding, heavyset man in half a clergyman's habit threw a wicked right hook at the man who had restrained Sylvia, then hauled the next up by his shirt collar before giving him the same treatment. In the space of one minute, all three attackers were laid out flat on the dark, dusty road. Only then did the clergyman drop next to Albert and gently lift the young man's head.

"Albert, lad! Can ye hear me?"

Albert woozily lifted his head and peered one-eyed at his rescuer. He had recognized the voice instantly. "Fa...Father Dougherty...Sylvia..." Albert struggled to sit up, wincing all the while. "Where's Sylvia?"

Sylvia herself all but tiptoed up to her childhood friend. "I'm here. Oh, Albert...your arm!"

Albert coughed as Father Dougherty helped him sit up. "They had a...knife. Did they...hurt you?"

Sylvia shook her head. "No. But Albert, you need a doc-" She stopped and frowned. Albert was the town's only doctor.

Albert tried to smile, though his lip and nose were bloodied. "I can...take care of...myself," he winced.

Father Dougherty shook his head. "Ye be just fine...only we be doin' the doctorin'. Lads," he said, looking at his two helpers, "take them blighters to the Sheriff. He weren't listening before, but by Saint Mary, he will now! Can ye walk, Albert, lad?"

Albert nodded and let the priest and Sylvia help him rise to his feet. He didn't even glance at his attackers as he shuffled past them. While he hadn't recognized their voices, he knew exactly why they had gone after him and who they worked for.

Farley.


	13. Heal Thyself

"Steady, lad. Steady," calmed Father Dougherty, keeping his hand on Albert's shoulder.

Albert's answer was another wince. He hadn't thought it was possible to hurt so many places all at once. By his reckoning from the type of pain and were it was located, those thugs had given him a broken nose, several bruised ribs, a lacerated right arm, and a possible concussion, not to mention the impressive shiner on his left eye and various other bruises. Thankfully it didn't seem like anything was broken. Between him, Father Dougherty, and Sylvia, they managed to treat the injuries in due time.

The most difficult to treat was the deep cut to Albert's right arm. As neither Sylvia nor Father Dougherty knew the proper stitch for wounds, Albert had to do it himself with his non-dominant hand. It shook with the effort and he had to take frequent breaks.

"Albert, won't you let me?" asked Sylvia, bloodstained cloth in hand. "You need to rest."

"No...almost...through," grunted Albert, making another stitch. His voice was nasal due to his injures, making 'm' sound like 'b', and 'n' sound like 'd'. A wad of cotton had been shoved up one nostril to stem the bleeding.

"Faith, lad. No need to take the Bible so literally, now."

"Which part?"

"Luke 4:23."

Albert cracked a painful smile. "Don't make me laugh, Father," he begged.

Father Dougherty shrugged. "Just tryin' to lift your spirits, lad."

Albert made the final stitch. "Well...please don't...it hurts."

The Irish priest nodded kindly. "All right. Don't want to hurt ye." He shifted his gaze to Albert's swollen eye. "Quite a shiner, there, lad. You got any nice beefsteaks 'round?"

Albert's mouth twitched into another ironic smile. "If I had any steaks around, I'd have eaten them." The thread was clipped, and he let Sylvia take the needle from him. "Does anyone...mind...wrapping my arm?"

Sylvia quickly picked up the roll of clean muslin from the side table next to one of the clinic's cots. "I'll do it."

Albert couldn't hide his surprise at Sylvia's volunteering and watched pleasantly as she wound the bandage around his arm. "You don't have to."

Sylvia worked carefully. "Well, you can't wrap your own arm, and Father Dougherty is busy cleaning your other wounds. What; you don't think I can?" Though her words and tone were challenging, both the look on her face and her volume were a bit softer than usual.

Albert blinked. "Well...it's not that. I'm just surprised." He watched how slow and gentle Sylvia was and found a thankful smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. It faded upon seeing the bruise forming on her left cheek. "They did hurt you." Impulsively he reached for her.

Sylvia paused to brush Albert away. "I think Father Dougherty hurt them worse," she pointed out, eyeing the roughed-up man. His shirttail was untucked and he sported several fresh cuts.

"Ye didn't do so badly yourself, Lass," said the priest, fighting a grin. "Your girl's a real fighter, Ingalls."

"Oh. She, ah...she's not 'my girl'," sputtered Albert with a red face. "She's just an old friend."

"Eh?" Father Dougherty look from one to the other with a look of barely concealed amusement. He didn't believe it for a minute. Still, he had never been one to push an issue. "Well, take it from me...don't get her mad, or ye'll be singin' Soprano!"

Embarrassed laughter made Sylvia hide her face and Albert wince. "Father!" he gasped.

The balding priest shrugged. "Jus' tellin' it like it is, lad." He wrung out a hand towel that had been soaking in water and laid it over Albert's swollen eye.

Albert flinched at the touch of the cold water and craned his neck to check Sylvia's progress. She was just finishing up the bandage. Albert lifted his eyebrows, impressed by her skill. "Where did you learn to bandage?"

Sylvia pursed her lips as she tied it off. "With all the fights at the saloon it pays to know how to patch someone up. Farley was always too cheap to call for outside help, so he'd draft one of us girls to do it." A sudden scowl crossed her face. "I can't believe he'd go as far as beating you to try and get you to stop treating people of other races. It's absurd!"

Albert nodded in agreement. "So you think it was Farley, too?"

"I know it was. I recognized those brutes; all three of them work for him."

"I wish I know what I'd done to get on his bad side."

"Ye didn't do nothin', Lad," said Father Dougherty with a sharp shake of his head. "Farley's a hard man to figger; he hires men o' all races t' work for 'im, but sees 'em as half human, or sommat foolish. This time he gone too far!"

"Someone ought to teach him a lesson," said Sylvia forcefully. She folded a square of muslin into a large triangle and put Albert's arm into a sling.

"By Heaven, if I was ten years younger, I'd give him what for," declared Father Dougherty.

Albert shook his head sadly. "No. What this town needs is an election to bring in a mayor and a sheriff that actually care about the people." He turned to look appraisingly at what Sylvia had done. "Good job. I could use someone like you to help out in the office."

The young woman flinched as if she'd been stung. A look of uncertainty crossed her face, and she hesitated before shaking her head. "Oh...I couldn't...not with Papa the way he is."

 _You did it again._ Albert sighed. "I didn't mean you, necessarily," he amended. _Liar_. "I know how busy you are. I mean, if you know anyone who can bandage like that and wants a job, I've been looking for an assistant for a while now."

Sylvia responded with nothing more than a shrug. "Is...there anything else I can help with?"

Albert shook his head. "No. Go ahead and get back to your family. Father? Would you take her home, please? I hate to let her walk alone in the dark."

Father Dougherty smiled and patted Albert's shoulder. "Sure 'nough, Lad. I'll go and bring the buggy over. Be back in a flash." With a grunt that came from old knees kneeling too long, the kindly clergyman rose to his feet and walked back toward the door.

Albert rose on his good arm to watch the man go. Father Dougherty was a true friend, a treasure to keep close to one's heart. If for his friendship alone, the doctor was glad to have come to Haywards. The warm smile faded as he turned to Sylvia. "Sylvia...I'm sorry your evening was ruined."

Sylvia shrugged. "Don't be. I'm just glad you'll be all right. Albert?" she asked hesitantly. "What did Father Dougherty mean when he referenced Luke 4:28? Was it some kind of joke?"

"Oh." Albert cracked a smile. "'Physician, heal thyself.' Don't you remember?"

"I haven't really been reading the Bible lately," Sylvia admitted. "Besides, Papa hardly ever puts it down these days."

"Mmm. I noticed that. Well, I suppose there's always church." Albert shrugged.

Sylvia's face hardened. "I don't go to church anymore. I haven't ever since Tommy was born."

Somehow Albert wasn't surprised, but was still compelled to ask, "Why?"

Brown eyes flashed with hurt and anger. "How can you even ask? I work in the Saloon. I'm a single mother whose father is dying. Could you imagine the stares Tommy would get?" Sylvia, aware she was raising her voice, lowered it and turned away. "Besides...I don't want to go."

Albert, who had been raised with an attitude of faith, pressed his sore lips together before responding. "Are you angry with God because of what's happened?" he asked quietly.

Sylvia lifted her chin. "Why shouldn't I be? He hates me, so why shouldn't I hate him?"

This bold statement caught Albert off guard. "God doesn't hate you-"

"Yes, he does! If he didn't, then why would he let all this happen? Why would he let some monster steal my childhood? Why would he let me have a child without a husband? Why would he let Tommy be born like that? And why is he letting Papa..." At that point her voice broke and she choked back a sob.

Albert's heart broke for her. A tear burned his tender eye as he wracked his brain for something to say in comfort. "I don't know why. But I do know it doesn't mean God hates us. Humans have got something called free will. It means not everyone is a good person. Some just want to hurt others. And just because a person is born with a disability or gets some kind of incurable disease, it doesn't mean God is punishing them. It just...happens." He took a deep breath before gripping Sylvia's hand. "You know that if I could have, I would have married you. We were just too young...and we couldn't just run away. I hoped someday you'd understand."

Sylvia lifted her tearstained face to look at him and nod. "I know...and you're right. When I saw you again...it just hurt too much to let you go the first time, and I was afraid I'd have to let you go all over again. So I made myself think I hated you. I'm so sorry for the way I acted, and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to come around anymore." Shame burned her cheeks as she hung her head.

Albert could only smile through his own tears. "I' never stopped loving you, Sylvia. Of course I'll keep coming around...unless you don't want me to."

Sylvia wiped her eyes, shaking her head. "No. You've done so much for us." A look of wonder came into her face. "You never stopped? Not even with all those nice girls you probably met at college?"

"Never. And I never went out with anyone at college. You're the only one I've ever loved, Sylvia...the only one I'll ever love." Albert brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"Oh, Albert..." Sylvia brought her forehead to Albert's and let more tears flow. "I still love you, too...but it's too late, now."

Albert's heart, which had been soaring earlier, sank back into his stomach. "What do you mean, too late?"

Sadly the young woman shook her head. "Too much has changed. We can't go back to the way things were. I wish we could, but we just can't." Sylvia looked down for a moment before giving Albert a brave smile. "I did want to thank you for all you've done for us. I never imagined I'd be able to talk to my son. Thank you."

Albert closed his eyes briefly. He didn't think it was possible to be elated and brokenhearted at the same time. Sylvia still loved him after all, but she didn't want to restart their romance. He would have to let her go...again. Painfully he nodded. "Glad I was able to help."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
 _A/N: Thanks for the kind reviews so far. More coming next week. Happy New Year!_


	14. Foul-Weather Friends

With the injuries Albert had sustained from the thugs in the alley, he was forced to close his office. He was loathe to do it, but there was no other choice. For the first two days he could hardly even dress. Treating anyone else would be impossible until the wound on his arm had healed. Jake the kitten was forced to live on whatever mice he could catch...and whatever food Albert dropped in his newfound clumsiness.

Word of the attack on Albert spread quickly, but not because of the 'closed sign on his front door. Father Dougherty told the other clergymen about the attack by way of a prayer request, who passed on the news to their respective congregations. All were asked to keep the young doctor in their prayers. That very afternoon several dozen people arrived at Albert's office with baskets of food and well wishes. Mrs. Dougherty brought over a full lunch of cold ham and cornbread. Another parishioner brought hot chicken soup for supper. Another volunteered to care for his horse while he was laid up. More than a hundred others stopped by at various points in the day. Concern and disbelief brought most of them, and the reaction of anger was almost universal.

"Who would do such a thing?" asked the Widow Dawson, sadly shaking her head.

"Brutes!" cried Mrs. Tanner indignantly. "And in the dark, too!"

"Ooh, those animals! Why under heaven would anyone want to go after a doctor- our only doctor -and beat him within an inch of his life, that's what I'd like to know," declared Mattie Steiner. She went on to describe exactly what she would do with the men if she ever got a hold of them.

Whoever came by to speak with Albert, their opinions on the attack were always the same; it was a terrible thing, and those responsible should be locked up for a good long while. Some even suggested locking them up and throwing away the key. Most baffling of all was the reason behind it. While he had a fairly good idea, Albert could answer these questions only with a shrug and a shake of his head.

As it turned out the three men who had ambushed Albert and Sylvia had been put in lockup for a measly two days before being turned loose. The reason given by the Sheriff was 'not enough evidence'. The public raised a loud cry of protest. Soon they began calling for the deposition of the lawman.

Albert, since he was young and healthy, began recovering quickly from his injuries. By the fourth day he was able to function relatively well and most of his bruises had begun to fade.

The young doctor was in the process of trying to fix himself lunch one-handed when there was a knock on his door. Albert sighed and turned to walk down the stairs, hoping it wasn't Mrs. Steiner again. The well-meaning chatterbox visited often enough to be a nuisance. The young doctor walked slowly downstairs. Jake the cat streaked ahead of him, waited at the foot of the stairs until Albert passed, and then rubbed against his legs.

It wasn't Mrs. Steiner this time. It was Sylvia at the door with a basket on her arm and Tommy at her side.

Albert straightened his spine in pleasant surprise and quickly opened the door. "Hello, Sylvia. Hello, Tommy. Won't you come inside?"

Sylvia's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Hello, Alb...Dr. Ingalls. We...we can't stay long," said as she and her son stepped inside.

Albert nodded in understanding. Hector couldn't be left alone for more than a few minutes in his condition. "That's all right. Can I help you with something?"

"Not really, I-" Sylvia looked down at the basket for a moment. "We just wanted to see how you were feeling."

"Oh. Well, considering the circumstances, I'm doing fine. Thank you for asking."

"How's your arm?"

"Still pretty sore...so is everything else. My face does look a little better." Albert cracked a smile. "At least I think it does."

Sylvia pursed her lips at him. "Albert...you look-" She stopped herself to avoid saying 'handsome' and continued. "-fine. I hope you feel better soon," she said with genuine concern.

Albert shifted his injured arm with a slight grimace. "Same here. Being stuck here unable to do much is worse than torture. I know my patients are eager to see me back."

Sylvia lifted her chin. "Well, even if you didn't have any patients, I know everyone is eager to see you better." When Albert smiled at her, the young woman blushed and redirected her gaze to the basket. "I know how hard it is to cook with one hand, so I brought you some food. It's not much, but..."

Albert's features sagged a little. "You didn't have to do that," he sighed, thinking of how in need the family already was. _I can't take food from them._

A look of slight pride crossed Sylvia's fair features. "I wanted to. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? After all, you've done so much for us, I'd been looking for some way to say thank you."

Sadly Albert shook his head and handed the basket back. "You're welcome...but I can't accept this. You keep it for your family. I don't need any more food here, believe me. Little old ladies from three churches have brought enough to sink a ship!"

Sylvia pushed the basket back into his hands. "Just take it. Please? For me...?"

The ghost of a smile reluctantly returned to Albert's face. He would do anything for her. "All right. Thank you." A warm, meaty aroma wafted out from under the cloth. When he lifted the cloth, he found a lidded tin pail much like a schoolchild would carry their lunch in. "It sure smells good. What is it?"

"Stew and biscuits," shrugged Sylvia. She glanced down at Tommy, who was getting restless. "We'd better go."

"All right. How's your father doing?" Albert wanted to know.

"Tired. He's been sleeping a lot."

"He needs it. I'll stop by tomorrow, all right?"

Sylvia's thin brows knit together and she shook her head. "No...no, you don't have to do that. You need rest."

Albert offered a crooked smile. "There isn't any rest for a doctor. As long as I can still use a stethoscope, I can check his breathing."

Sylvia opened her mouth for further protest, but found she couldn't come up with anything else to say. Instead she sighed and glanced out the door again. "We'd better go. Goodbye, Alb...Dr. Ingalls. Say goodbye to Dr. Ingalls, Tommy."

Tommy looked from his mother to Albert in exasperation before waving to Albert and giving a very rough sign of 'feel better'.

Albert smiled at the boy and waved back. "Thank you, Tommy. I'll see you tomorrow," he signed.

Tommy frowned, sighed, and followed his mother out the door.

Albert found his smile fading as he watched mother and son leave. The need to do something to help the family weighed more heavily on his heart than ever. Winter would be coming soon, and with so little money it would be difficult for Sylvia and her family to get by. He wondered how they had managed in the past.

As Albert sat down to his lunch he was struck by conscience. Here he was, surrounded by gifts from well wishers, and the woman he loved and her family were on slim portions. _Not anymore,_ he decided, taking mental tally of all the food in the house. He smiled as an idea of how to help Sylvia's family without hurting Hector's pride began to coagulate.

Early tomorrow morning before the sun was up, Albert would be making a little delivery to the Webb household.

It wasn't a surprise when Farley himself stopped by the office later that same day. His face was the picture of false sympathy when he saw Albert. "Why, Doctor Ingalls, whatever has happened to you?"

Albert was hard-pressed to keep a neutral expression upon seeing the overreaching mayor. "A friend and I were accosted in an alley Saturday night."

Farley nodded. "Yes, I'd heard that. I do hope you weren't hurt too badly."

Albert pressed his lips together. "I'll live. I was stabbed in the arm."

The ingratiating mayor clucked his tongue. "Dreadful. Oh, I hope this won't affect your medical practice." Farley's expression of slyness was simple to read. Apparently he had been hoping for as much.

Albert shook his head, standing up a little straighter. "Not at all. Thankfully the knife missed the major tendons and left the muscle fairly intact. As soon as it heals, I'll be back to normal."

Farley smiled thinly. "Glad to hear it." He took a drag from his cigarette and lazily surveyed the building. "Did you, ah, see who it was?"

With such obvious malice in Farley's intent, Albert finally allowed her anger to show. _This has gone far enough. It stops here._ He leveled his eyes with Farley's. "Yes, actually. It was Joe Benson, Garret Duncan, and Steven Hammond. They work for you, don't they?"

Farley turned to face the young doctor. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

Albert knit his good arm with his injured one. "I simply can't figure out why those three men would want to ambush my friend and me when I've never done them any harm."

The mayor shrugged unconcernedly. "There are several people in the town who would not agree with your, ah...how should I put it? More liberal policies."

"You mean my treating people of color or different religions." Albert said bluntly.

"Exactly. I did warn you, if you remember," reminded Farley.

"Yes. I remember. I still don't see that as reason enough for an unprovoked attack."

"People lose their tempers."

"No threats were made. Nothing was said by any of those three men to give any indication they wanted to harm me. I simply thought that, as your employer, you might have some idea."

Farley's eyes narrowed coldly. "What are you implying, Ingalls?"

Albert met those eyes with an equally strong gaze. He refused to back down. "Nothing. I just want to know if those men were acting under your orders."

Heat rose in Farley's neck. In one quick motion he yanked the remains of his cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it aside. "How dare you! I am the mayor of this town. Why would I want to harm the only doctor?"

Albert shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe because I treat blacks, Mexicans, Jewish, Asians, and everyone else like human beings...?"

Mayor Farley's face went from pink to red. "I am _not_ a racist!"

Albert raised his eyebrows. "I didn't say you were. Why so defensive?"

Farley took a step closer to Albert."Look, son, you don't seem to understand how things work around here. I run a fair town. Everybody gets their share. You start giving certain people special treatment, and they get lazy. You try to change the status quo, then Ingalls, I'm warning you," said Farley, sticking his finger in Albert's chest. "You're going to be biting off more than you can chew."

Albert met Farley's eyes. "Is that a threat, Mr. Farley?"

The man looked ready to explode. He trembled with rage and looked within inches of rearing back to hit Albert in the face. Instead he whirled around in a huff and stuck a fresh cigarette back between his teeth. "You think about it, Ingalls. You think real hard." With that Farley stomped for the door. Once there he paused to look over his shoulder at Albert with a sneer. "By the way, this building is seeing quite a bit of use now. I'll have to raise the rent to keep up with expenses."

 _Of course you will._ Albert was paying over six dollars in rent already and still doing all the maintenance himself. "No surprise. How much?" he asked.

"Another four," said Farley, lighting the new cigarette. "I expect the difference for November by the end of the week."

"Ten dollars a month? For this place?" exclaimed Albert in shock. "It was in a shambles when I moved in."

Farley took a drag on his cigarette and blew out a mouthful of smoke. "You can't afford it? Move." The look on his face said that he would love the idea.

Albert sat fuming for a few minutes. He was half tempted to give Farley a piece of his mind...or a mouthful of fist. But fighting wouldn't solve anything as long as the mayor had a handful of hired muscle and a sheriff under his thumb. Albert knew that if he got into another fight at that point he was going to lose, and badly. He was still healing from the last scrap. So he sank into his desk chair with a sigh. "I'll have your money tomorrow. Is there anything else you need, Mr. Farley...any medical complaints?" _A new heart, maybe?_

Farley gave a sleazy grin. "No thanks. Take care of yourself, now." And he slipped out the door.

Albert slouched into his seat and let out a long, shuddering breath, rubbing his free hand across his eyes. Things were going from annoying to downright dangerous. He had known being a doctor would be stressful, but he hadn't counted on a monopolizing mayor trying to get rid of him at every turn.

Despite this Albert knew he couldn't quit. Even if he hadn't made friends in Haywards, there was still Sylvia to think about. He couldn't leave now. Not with everything that had happened.

The next morning Albert followed through on his plan to anonymously bring a box of food to Sylvia's door. Happiness at being able to do something tangible for the family put Albert in a good mood the rest of the day. His step was light as he walked out the front door, back in shirt, string tie, vest, and jacket, medical bag in hand. It would still be another four days before the stitches in his arm could be removed, but it could be taken out of the sling and used for light duties.

Sylvia met him at the door with a very curious expression. There was suspicion there, and anger, and a little bit of worry. "Dr. Ingalls. Come on in."

 _This isn't because of the food, is it_? Albert wondered as he tipped his hat and walked in. Hector and Tommy's expressions didn't look any different. What was going on? "Is everything all right?" he asked as he looked around the room.

Hector sat up and eyed Albert's arm. "Sylvia told me about the attack. Those animals are lucky I wasn't there. There wouldn't be enough of them left for a pine box. You feelin' any better, Ingalls?"

Albert nodded, and tried to smile. "I'm supposed to asking you that."

The humor was lost on Hector, who coughed and continued to frown. "I'm not the one who...got beat within an inch of his life. Sylvie said they hurt you pretty bad."

Albert glanced at Sylvia, whose eyes red as if she'd been crying. "It looked worse than it was. At least they didn't break any bones. I was stabbed in the arm, but that should heal soon. Other than that it was mostly bruises."

Hector seemed satisfied with this answer and allowed Albert to check his lungs. His condition had worsened, but only a little.

All the while Albert wondered what was wrong with Sylvia. She didn't seem to want to tell him in front of either her son or father. The young doctor had almost given up on getting an answer out of her by the time he headed out the door.

No sooner had the door closed than Sylvia hurried outside. "Albert...wait!"

Albert willingly stood on the poor excuse for a front porch to wait for her. "Yes?"

"I..." She shut the front door and lowered his voice. "I wanted to thank you for the food you brought this morning. Now, I know it was you," she added, seeing the look of innocence on Albert's handsome young face. "So, don't even try and deny it. But thank you. We're probably going to need it, now that-" Her voice broke.

Quietly Albert tilted his head to try and meet her eyes. "Sylvia? What's wrong?"

Sylvia closed them. When they opened, she was scowling. "That smoke-breathing, no-account, dad-blamed excuse for a man! That's what's wrong!"

"Who?" Albert wanted to know.

"Farley!" Sylvia fairly spat the name.

"Oh. Him. What did he do now?"

"He said the girls upstairs are getting too busy and the men want new women. So now everyone has to do both; wait tables and...and work upstairs."

Albert felt the temperature of his blood rise several degrees. "Everyone?" he asked, trembling with anger.

Sylvia nodded miserably. "He said anyone who didn't was out of a job. So I quit."

Relief at this information was profound. "You did?"

Sylvia's eyes flashed. "Of course I did! I told you I could never do that kind of work. But now I'm out of a job...and Farley said he'd make sure I'd never find another one in the area." Anger crumbled into tears, and Sylvia began to weep quietly.

Wordlessly Albert reached for Sylvia's shoulder to give it a comforting squeeze. He felt as if his heart would either break for sadness or burst in anger. Once Farley's men had seen him and Sylvia together, of course they would have reported this to their boss. Of course Farley would use this to his full advantage in hurting Albert. Rather than bending under the pressure, however, Albert had half a mind to march down to the Town Hall and toss Farley into next week. It wouldn't do any good in the long run. Albert would only land in jail for assault, and then where would his patients be? "Have you told your father?" he asked quietly.

Sylvia shook her head. "I can't. He always gets so upset about the lack of money and knowing where I was working. I'm afraid if I tell him, he could-" Her voice broke again, and she buried her face in her hands.

Albert nodded in understanding. Any strong shock had the potential to make Hector worse, or even kill him. With a breaking heart he wrapped a protective arm around Sylvia's shoulders "Shh. Everything is going to be all right. You hear me? It'll be all right."

Farley had crossed the line. While it was against the one of the Ten Commandments to kill someone outright, Albert had already made up his mind that if the mayor was ever shot, that bullet would stay where it was.


	15. Scars

Haywards, California  
Late November, 1890

He walked along with more spring in his step than usual and couldn't keep the pleasant smile off his face. When someone was passed in the street, his hat was tipped and he nodded. When someone said "Afternoon, Doc," he waved and returned the greeting.

Albert could not remember the last time he had been in such a good mood. But he had plenty of reason for it. For the first time in months it seemed that everything was finally falling into place. His practice was growing in spite of Farley's intimidation. Sylvia had found a new job as a laundress at one of the few decent family-owned hotels in town. Tommy's vocabulary was growing by the day. Even Hector seemed to be improving a touch. While Albert's arm now bore a thick scar from the stab wound, his injuries had healed and he was back to putting his medical skills to use. The old Sheriff in town had been reported to a superior court and had since been replaced with one who wasn't under Mayor Farley's thumb; a David Greene. Albert no longer had to worry about Farley raising the rent, as the town had gotten together enough money to allow the young doctor to buy his office from the man directly.

And now it was Thanksgiving. Albert would be spending the holiday with Father Dougherty and his wife, as well as Sylvia and her family.

The Webb family was understandably nervous after the invitation. Sylvia fretted over not having clothes fit for company and what sort of dish they could bring. Hector was somewhat skeptical hearing they'd be dining with a Catholic family. As for Tommy, Sylvia worried about his overall shyness around strangers...and his table manners. Albert assured the group repeatedly that they had nothing to worry about. The Dougherty's were a patient, kind, and above all a God-fearing couple and didn't judge others based on appearance or table manners. They had heard much about Sylvia's family and were eager to meet them.

Albert arrived at Sylvia's house at noon and was happy to see all of them ready to go. Sylvia was able to scrounge together enough yellow winter squash to make a reasonable facsimile of pumpkin pie. It looked almost identical to the real thing and smelled absolutely delicious. She was also able to piece together one of Hector's old shirts to make a new one for Tommy. Hector himself had dug out his good church clothes and looked surprisingly eager to get going. As for Tommy, he was decidedly uncomfortable in his string tie and starched shirt and let everyone know by signing 'no like'. Sylvia was embarrassed, but Albert smiled at the boy.

"That's all right, Tommy. I never liked formal clothes, either," he admitted with a wink.

That coaxed at least something of a smile out of the boy, and he didn't tug at his collar quite so much during the trip over to the priest's house. He and Hector rode double on Red while Albert and Sylvia walked.

Walking in the door at the Dougherty's brought with it the toothsome smells of roast turkey, sage, onions, and potatoes. Father Dougherty welcomed them all with his signature red-cheeked grin and invited them all to make themselves comfortable. Dinner was set to be ready at one. Sylvia, after settling her father on the couch and Tommy with one of his few toys to keep him from getting underfoot, immediately offered to help Annie Dougherty with the meal.

Annie seemed somewhat flustered and tried waving Sylvia off. "Ah! Nonsense, dearie. Ye be a guest!"

Sylvia didn't have to push very hard for Annie to reluctantly agree to let her drain the potatoes, followed by several other small tasks. Meanwhile the men made small talk in the sitting room. Father Dougherty was able to initiate a conversation with Tommy and even managed to coax a smile out of him. They talked about his favorite animals and whether he had ever seen snow before. By the time the womenfolk called them to the table, both Tommy and Hector had been won over.

After everyone had sufficiently oohed and ahed over the turkey, Father Dougherty sharpened the carving knife and turned to Albert. "Albert, lad...would ye do us the honor o' sayin' the blessin?"

Albert blushed, but after a couple of encouraging nods he folded his hands and bowed his head. "Lord, we thank you for this day of fellowship with close friends, of good food, and this day of Thanksgiving. We remember our blessings, no matter how small, and ask that all would be allowed to share in them. Bless this food and keep us healthy so that we can continue to show others your love. Amen."

Liam and Annie followed quickly with a sign of the Cross. "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, amen," added Father Dougherty. He grinned and picked up the carving knife. "Now, let us taste this lovely bird. Ladies first. Sylvia, lass...light or dark meat?"

Sylvia colored. Brown eyes darted to Tommy, who was all but salivating over such a feast. "Oh. Could you please serve Tommy first?"

Liam smiled at the boy. "Ah, good point. Th' young lad's prob'ly hungry. How 'bout it, Tommy? What be your pleasure?"

Tommy stared at the food with wide eyes. Clearly he wanted some turkey, but didn't know how to ask for it. So he signed 'eat', and pantomimed eating something long, held in his fist.

Father Dougherty chuckled. "So ye want a drumstick, eh? Then a drumstick ye'll get."

Tommy nodded eagerly and watched as the leg of the bird was carved off and put on his plate. He could hardly wait for Sylvia to tie his napkin around his neck before picking up the drumstick and taking a bite.

After the turkey and trimmings had been distributed, various side dishes were passed around the table. Albert had just set his own napkin in his lap and was about to take a bite of mashed potatoes when a knock at the door startled him and everyone else at the table.

Annie paused, fork of halfway to her mouth. "Now, who could that be, knockin' on Thanksgivin' day?"

Father Dougherty shrugged, still chewing a mouthful of turkey and giblet gravy. "Don't know, love." he rose to his feet and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Like as not they smelled the turkey and came by for a bite."

Annie pursed her lips. "Well, o' course they're welcome to it, but I'd prefer to have a bit o' warnin' fer spare dinner guests."

Liam smiled at his wife and patted her hands as he made his way to the door. "Be right back." He made right for the front door and swung it open. The cheerful smile on his face began fading immediately upon seeing who it was. "Afternoon, Mayor. Happy Thanksgivin' t' ye."

Mayor Farley tipped his hat to the clergyman with a perfectly sickening smile. "Afternoon, Father. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too."

Albert, Sylvia, and Hector all exchanged uneasy glances. Farley wasn't one to stop by for dinner. He had to be present for a different reason altogether.

Tommy, without the tact of an adult, craned his neck to stick out his tongue at the man until Sylvia tapped his mouth in disapproval.

"Well...what brings ye here?" asked the priest carefully. "If you've not eaten, there be plenty."

"I haven't come for dinner, Father." Farley reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper bearing his signature. "I stopped by the Webb place, but apparently it's empty. The widow Dawson told me I could find Hector Webb at your place. Is he here?"

Hector threw a worried glance to Sylvia, who wrapped a protective arm around Tommy. Albert put down his napkin and scooted away from the table to be ready to help, should it be needed.

Father Dougherty shrugged. "He might be. What business have ye wi' th' man that couldn'a waited 'till tomorrow?" the clergyman asked.

Farley's false smile faded into a look of sternness. "Business. Now is Hector Webb here, or not?"

Ignoring the cautionary hand of Sylvia upon his arm, Hector tossed his napkin to the table and rose, somewhat unsteadily, to his feet. "I'm here, Farley," he said, walking out of the kitchen. "Whaddya want?"

The disgusting smile returned. "Hector. Nice to see you. How have you been?"

Hector's hazel eyes narrowed. "Well enough. Now, say what'cha come to say and be quick. Supper's getting cold."

Farley nodded. "Of course. Here you are." He handed the folded piece of paper to Hector.

Hector's hands wavered a bit as he unfolded the paper. Emblazoned across the top in fancy letters was 'NOTICE OF EVICTION'. His eyes widened. For the first few moments, shock was the predominating emotion. Then indignant anger rose. "What is this?" Hector glared.

Farley stuck his thumbs into his hip pockets. "Just what it looks like. I expect you out by the end of next week."

Upon hearing those words, everyone in the house knew what that paper was. Albert felt his blood begin to boil. Worry also rose, not only for the Webb's living situation but for what this news would do to both Hector and Father Dougherty's health. Already Albert could see the priest's face begin to change color.

Hector took a step toward Farley with a mixture of hurt and intense anger. "Why? Why are you doin' this? We always paid the rent on time, never behind more'n a day or so."

Farley sniffed derisively. "It has come to my attention that the property is an eyesore. Therefore it will be removed before the end of the year."

Hector glared, gripping the notice so hard it crinkled in his hand. "And just where are we supposed to live?"

"That's not my problem," said Farley. He waved his hand dismissively. "I suggest that after you finish here, you go home and begin packing."

Albert leapt to his feet with fire in his eyes. His intention was to cross the room in a single bound and feed Farley a mouthful of fist.

Father Dougherty was already within range of the snobby mayor. "Farley, ye...ye cold-hearted blatherskite! ' Tis bad 'nough ye be workin' yer men to th' bone an' supportin' all the ruckus in town. Tis worse ye send yer lads to beat up Doc Ingalls 'cause o' yer blasted prejudice. 'Tis worse still t' be harassin' poor Mr. Webb here. But t' come here, to my house, my guests, an' give 'em an eviction on Thanksgivin' Day? That be th' worst, Mr. Farley! An' by Saint Mary, I won't stand fer it!"

While Sylvia and Tommy cringed at the volume of the conversation and Hector stepped back- as much in surprise as to get out of the line of fire -Albert hurried up to the incensed clergyman. "Father...calm down-"

Father Dougherty shook the boy off. "I will not! This be the last straw, I tell ye! The last straw!" By this time his face had gone nearly purple with rage and a vein in his forehead was throbbing. "He thinks he's all high an' mighty. Well 'tis high time someone took 'im down a peg!"

Mayor Farley's expression had soured considerably. "This is none of your concern, Father Dougherty."

The Irish priest took a large step toward the man. He trembled with righteous anger. "Aye, it is when ye come to my house an' trouble my guests. Ye thinks ye own the town...well ye don't own me, ye cowardly, weak-livered, sonofa-"

Farley clucked his tongue and wagged a finger. "Such language, Father. You ought to be ashamed."

"No, 'tis you that oughta be ashamed! Th' town'd be better off wi' no mayor at all, 'stead a' the likes o' ye!" Father Dougherty blinked with unexpected fatigue and wavered a little on his feet. A thin film of sweat had broken out across his forehead.

"Father, please," whispered Albert urgently, taking the older man's arm. "You need to sit down."

"Yes. Listen to your doctor, Father,' sneered Farley. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"'Scuse ye? I'll do right more'n 'scuse ye! I'll...I'll-" Father Dougherty went to take another step, but the shadow of pain had fallen across his face. He took his left arm with a sudden wince. A moment later he staggered backward and collapsed to the floor.

"Liam!" cried Annie. She jumped up from her seat.

"No!" Albert yelped in dismay, dropping next to the priest to check for a pulse. There was one, but it was exceedingly faint. It was a textbook heart attack. Albert immediately began loosening Dougherty's collar. _My bag...where's my bag?_ There was a medication Albert always carried around to stimulate a weak heart. "Can someone bring me my bag, please?"

Sylvia, who had gone pale, snagged the medical bag from under the table and brought it to Albert. She was followed by Annie, who took her husband's hand in desperation. "Liam...Liam, love, say somethin'...say somethin'!"

Albert found his hands shaking as he rifled through his bag for the small packet of powdered foxglove. One of his worst fears was being realized. As a doctor it was always possible he would end up treating a friend or family member in life-or-death circumstances. Seeing Father Dougherty lying inert on the floor made Albert realize anew just how much the aging clergyman meant to him.

Father Dougherty's eyes fluttered open, drowsy and disoriented. "Annie?" he murmured.

"Aye, Liam. I'm here," smiled Annie in relief, clasping his hand tightly. "Don't ye worry. Dr. Ingalls gonna fix ye up good."

"Ingalls?" mumbled Father Dougherty. Bleary eyes shifted to Albert.

"Lie still, Father," choked Albert, clamping down on the man's shoulder. "You've had a heart attack." he continued rifling through his bag until he finally found the packet of medicine. "Can someone bring a glass of water, please?"

"No...no need, Ingalls," whispered the priest with a ghost of a smile on his face. "I be...jus'...fine." His voice faded into nothing. For a split second he seemed to be staring at something beautiful in the distance. Then he closed his eyes, sighed, and was still.

Annie stared at her husband with a mixture of sorrow and wonder. "Liam? Oh, Liam..." Her face crumpled and she buried her face in her husband's shoulder.

Albert shook his head against the sad scene. "No...no," he whispered. But there was no denying the look on Father Dougherty's face. The kindly priest with a fiery temper had gone home. Albert sagged on his joints and wept into his palm. Then his head snapped up and he looked at Farley.

Farley, rather than keeping his unconcerned air, had gone pale with fear. He took several slow steps back. When he spoke, his tone was defensive. "Don't-don't look at me like that. I didn't know he was going to...it was his own fault. He shouldn't have...I didn't mean to-"

In five seconds Albert had leapt to his feet and grabbed Farley by the collar. "Why, Farley? What did I do to you that you have to keep hurting everyone I care about?"

Farley shook the younger man off and straightened his collar. "I didn't do this, Ingalls. I didn't know he was going to...to have a heart attack. It wasn't my fault!"

Albert opened his mouth to say something else, but Sylvia's plaintive voice called him back. The young doctor let out a shuddering breath before turning to go back inside, shutting the door behind him.

The interior of the modest house, which only minutes before had been lively with the sounds and smells of Thanksgiving, had been reduced to a bundle of sorrow. Sylvia stood with her arms around a shell-shocked Tommy. Hector sat in a chair looking older and frailer than ever. Annie still knelt on the floor, her face buried in her husband's shoulder.

For a time Albert just stood there, leaning on the doorpost, not knowing what to do. Now he understood the feeling Dr. Baker had spoken of after losing a patient. It was of helplessness, of second-guessing himself, of numbness.

For Albert, he could have only described the feeling as hollow. It was as if someone had gouged out his heart with a knife and then tossed it aside like so much garbage. Dougherty had been more than a patient or even a friend. He had been like family. The scars left by his passing would take a long time to heal. At the moment it felt as if they never would.

Then Sylvia reached out to take his hand. With one look, Albert could tell that she understood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
 _ **A/N: Down to the wire! Only two chapters left!**_


	16. Breaking Point

As the town's only doctor it was Albert's unhappy duty to take Father Dougherty's body to the undertaker and sign the death certificate. Lansford Paulson, the burly but kind-hearted undertaker, sadly shook his head as he carried Father Dougherty into the morgue. The kind clergyman would be sorely missed.

These feelings were obvious as word spread of the tragedy. Father Dougherty had been well-known and well-loved by more than three quarters of the town. His influence had gone beyond religion, race, or country of origin. Not only did every member of the parish stop by the Dougherty house to see Annie, but so did half of Haywards. Members of the Methodist, Mormon, Presbyterian, Congregationalist, and Baptist churches all came to pay their respects, as well as several members of the Jewish community. Even a few people who claimed no religion at all dropped by to offer their condolences.

Annie was touched at this outpouring of love for her departed husband, but wasn't really surprised. Liam had been the type of man who could make friends with anyone. She planned his wake with a heavy heart and knew it was going to be crowded.

The story of how Father Dougherty had died spread almost as quickly as word of his death. With it came word of the Thanksgiving eviction. While women who worked in the saloon were not well thought of, evicting a family on any holiday- especially one plagued with health problems -was too much for anyone to take. Tempers flared. Even a few of his beer and whiskey drinking cronies swore off going to the saloon that evening. The turn of events had gone too far even for them.

Albert himself was so distracted by the unfortunate occurrence that he found himself just going through the motions in his doctoring. Whenever he had a chance to slow down, his eyes would well up in remembering Father Dougherty. The man had been like an uncle to him. He knew that it wasn't only he who was having these feelings. Half the town was experiencing the same type of grief. Almost every person that came into the office had something kind to say about the clergyman. All of them expressed anger at Mayor Farley. Some were in a state of utter rage.

Mayor Farley, meanwhile, had secluded himself inside his office. Some suspected it was out of fear. Some interpreted it as simple cowardice. Only a few even considered remorse. To most of the town, Farley was completely without either heart or conscience.

The following Monday was when everything came to a head. Farley's underpaid migrant laborers went on strike, refusing to come to work. This angered Farley, but still he remained secluded in his offices.

His workers responded to this by marching down to his office at noon to address the major directly. It began with O'Malley and McDaniels, two of the members of Father Dougherty's parish. As they marched down the street from the parish, they gained followers, shouting against Farley and his cruel policies as mayor. By the time they had passed Albert's office it had gone from a party of five or six to a mob of over 200. Joined in with the laborers were a few of Farley's own cronies who had turned on him following Father Dougherty's death. At least half of those men were drunk.

The mob was tailed by four of the remaining clergymen, looking worried as they followed close behind.

Albert stood in his doorway rolling down his sleeves after examining a woman's healing abscess. He called out to Reverend Keller. "Reverend? What's going on?"

Reverend Keller grimaced as he paused to mount Albert's steps with a shake of his head. "It's a bunch of Farley's workers. They're going on strike until he gives them fair wages."

Albert watched the noisy group as they marched past. "Looks like a mob."

Keller nodded. "That's what I was thinking. What do you think Farley's going to do when he sees this?"

The young doctor grimaced. "Whatever he does, it won't get very far with these people. They're fed up. Frankly, I can't blame them."

Reverend Keller turned a worried eye to the mob as they rounded the corner. "Well, neither can I. But violence isn't going to solve anything."

"Have you tried talking to them to calm them down?" Albert wanted to know.

"All of us have. Even Reverend Gallagher. They won't listen," informed the pastor.

"What about the Sheriff?"

"Reverend Johnson went to find him." Keller bit his lip in worry. "Will you come along and help?"

Albert helplessly spread his hands. "What can I do? If they won't listen to you..."

Reverend Keller reached out to take Albert's arm. "I'm just afraid someone is going to get hurt. Some of those men are drunk, and I know at least a few of them are armed. Albert, please?"

The young doctor sighed. Part of him would feel no remorse if Farley ended up injured. But Farley wasn't the only one who could be hurt. Mobs could turn ugly in a very short period of time. Finally Albert nodded. "All right. I'll grab my bag, just in case." And he ducked back into his office to gather the leather doctor's bag from his desk. Then, he followed Reverend Keller down the street and around the corner.

By that time the mob had reached City Hall and began pounding on the door. "Open up, Farley! Quit hiding! Open up!"

Farley came to the door wearing a scowl. "So. You've brought a mob to my door, have you? What do you want?"

"Fair wages, that's what we want!" shouted O'Malley. "And we ain't doin' any more work for ya' till we get 'em!" He was joined by a chorus of agreement.

"I see. And what exactly makes you think that not working will get you any pay?" Farley crossed his arms.

"You'll lose too much money without us," one of the other workers pointed out.

"You got no choice," spouted another.

Farley scoffed. "Oh I haven't, have I? Workers like you are a dime a dozen. I can find migrants anywhere. If you want to keep your jobs, you'll get back to work immediately."

McDaniels stubbornly lifted his chin. "We ain't workin' 'till we get fair wages." The others shouted in agreement.

The mayor waved dismissively. "Then you're all fired."

Yells of rage rose among the group and they began shoving through to get to Farley.

McDaniels' eyes widened. "Ye...ye can't do that!"

Farley raised his eyebrows. "I can, and I already have."

"We got families to feed!"

"You should have thought of that before you came pounding at my door. Now go! All of you, before I have you arrested for trespassing!"

"You're the one who should be arrested, Farley...after what ye done to Father Dougherty!" shouted O'Malley.

Farley's look of superiority faded. He took a step back. "That wasn't my doing."

O'Malley's face went beet-red with anger and grief. "It weren't, eh? You're a lyin' wretch! 'Twas yer heartlessness that drove him to his grave! Ye be no better'n a murderer!"

With every shout of agreement that rose in the mob, Farley's face paled. "No...no! It wasn't me! I didn't kill him!"

The mob would have none of it. By then their rage had reached a fever pitch. The calls for calm from the clergy went unheeded.

It was to this ugly scene that Sheriff Davis arrived with his .22 rifle in hand. He fired it into the air to get everyone's attention. "Enough! Now, what's going on, here?"

"Arrest 'im, Sheriff! He's a murderin' rat!" screamed O'Malley.

"Take it easy, O'Malley. Who is?" asked Sheriff Davis.

"FARLEY!" the crowd shouted as one. "Lock him up! Kill him! Hang him!"

Farley took another step back, his hand on the doorknob. "I told you, it wasn't my fault! I acted within the law!" Desperately he turned to the Sheriff. "Sheriff, please! You have to protect me!"

Sheriff Davis raised an eyebrow. "I have an obligation to protect the people of Haywards. Now if these folks would calm down, I have something to-"

BANG! The loud, sudden report of a pistol from somewhere in the crowd exploded in a puff of gunsmoke. The crowd screamed and ducked, while there was a loud cry of pain from the front of the crowd. They began to scatter in the chaos.

Sheriff Davis dropped to the ground and frantically waved his arm. "Someone get Doc Ingalls. Quick. Doc? You here? Hey, Doc!"

Albert, upon hearing his name being called, immediately ran through the crowd up to the steps of the town hall, tailed by Reverend Keller. He froze upon seeing the victim.

It was Mayor John Farley, lying on his back as blood began to soak the front of his shirt. His face was twisted with shock and pain.

The Sheriff waved again. "Over here, Doc. Farley's been shot."

Albert felt numb and completely without emotion as he slowly dropped to his knees next to the mayor and undid his vest and shirt to look at the bullet wound. One glance was enough to tell him that the bullet had driven straight past the sternum. It could well have hit the heart, in which case Farley was a goner. It was a strange feeling seeing the man he considered an enemy lying there helpless in front of him. An oddly misplaced sense of justice prevailed, along with reluctance to do anything. Farley had pushed too far and now he was paying for it.

Sheriff Davis noticed Albert's hesitance. "How bad is it, Doc? Is he gonna die?"

 _I hope so._ Albert pushed the dark thought aside and shook his head. "I don't know. Probably. He's losing a lot of blood."

The Sheriff grimaced and looked from the doctor to the patient. "Should we get him over to your office?"

Albert opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no affection for this man whatsoever. If Farley died then justice would be served. The oath he had taken open becoming a doctor said 'do no harm'. It said nothing about refusing a patient because of who he was. Touche, Farley. How do you like it? "I don't know," he muttered.

Reverend Keller suddenly realized what Albert was doing...or rather, what he was not doing. "You're not going to do anything, are you?"

Albert could only shrug. "I don't know if there's anything I can do. It looks like the bullet went right into his heart. If that's the case, I can't save him."

"Are you even going to try?" Reverend Keller asked, lifting his brows.

"I'd be wasting my time. If his heart was hit, then there's nothing I can do," insisted Albert.

"Albert Ingalls, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Here you are with a man whose hired cronies nearly beat you to death because you treated everyone regardless of who they were, and now you refuse to treat him because of who he is." Keller shook his head sadly.

"That...that was different," faltered Albert defensively. He tried to ignore the conflict going on in his heart. "Farley tried to keep me from treating people based on the color of their skin or where they come from."

"It's the same, and you know it." Keller sighed, taking Albert's arm. "Look...I know how tempting it is to feel bitter toward this man because of all he's done to hurt you and those you care about. It's tempting to take revenge...but it's not up to us to deal out judgment to people. It's God's. 'Vengeance is mine; I shall repay, saith the Lord'. If you let Farley die without even trying to save him, then you're no different than he is."

Such words hit Albert hard. His eyes stung and his stomach twisted. _He's right. If I let this man die, then I'll be breaking my oath to treat everyone regardless of who they are._ The young man took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and shuddered. "All right. Can someone help me get him over to my office?"

Reverend Keller patted Albert's shoulder with a nod. "I'll help."

With the help of Reverend Keller and the Sheriff, Albert was able to carry John Farley into his medical office. After fifteen minutes of probing, he found the bullet. It had nicked the sternum and missed the heart and lungs.

The true irony in all this was that Sheriff Davis had been doing some digging on Farley's past. It seems the mayor of Haywards was wanted in Sacramento for extortion and money laundering. If he lived he would be sent away to face his crimes. Needless to say, his mayorship was over. As for the shooter- which had been one of Farley's own hired thugs -he was sent off to the Alameda County Courthouse to face charges of assault with a deadly weapon.

It was a long and tense few days while Albert and Sheriff Davis waited for Farley to regain consciousness. Sylvia, while she couldn't understand why Albert had even tried to save the man, stopped by every so often with soup or stew.

Four days after the shooting, Farley stirred in his bed. He was still pale, but his pulse and breathing were steady. Bleary eyes opened as he tried to move.

Albert held him down. "Hold still, Farley. You shouldn't be moving yet."

Farley squinted at the young doctor, then flinched. "Where am I? What are you doing here?"

Albert pursed his lips. "You're in my office. Hold still," he added when Farley tried to sit up. "You've lost a lot of blood."

Farley lay back and noticed the bandage on his chest. "What happened?"

"Someone shot you in the chest. You're lucky I was able to get the bullet out."

'Lucky?" Farley glared at the young doctor. "You prob'ly shot me yourself."

"He saved your life, you ungrateful windbag," muttered Sheriff Davis from the opposite side of the bed. He leaned against the wall with both arms crossed. "And you're lucky he did. You should be up and around just in time to face your trial in Sacramento."

"Trial!?" squawked Farley in protest. He went a few shades paler.

"That's right. Seems you're wanted for money laundering and extortion down there," said the Sheriff, lifting his eyebrows.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about," sputtered the nervous man.

"Oh, yeah, I got it all from the law down there. They got enough to lock you away for a long vacation."

"I can't go to jail in this condition!"

Sheriff Davis shrugged. 'Oh, don't worry. You don't leave here 'till he gives the go-ahead. And I'll get you nice, comfortable prisoner wagon to ride in."

Farley could not have possibly looked any more upset...or frightened. "I didn't do it...I was framed, I tell you! Framed! I can't go to jail," he whined.

Albert eyed the mayor. "Would you rather be dead?"

Of course Farley could think of no protest for that. He sank sullenly into the pillows with a groan.

Sheriff Davis motioned to Albert. "I better get to the telegraph office and wire Sacramento...tell them their prisoner's alive. If he give you any trouble, call me."

Albert nodded. "He won't...at least not today. Thanks, Sheriff." He watched as the man walked out the door, leaving him alone with Farley. Presently he turned to the man. "You're going to need to eat something soon. I'll see if I can rustle up some soup for you." He began to examine the bandages to check for any signs of infection.

Farley grew very quiet. After a moment he blinked and stared uncomprehendingly at Albert. "Ingalls...?"

"Yes?" Albert glanced at the man and pulled the blanket back over him.

"Why'd you save me?" Farley wanted to know.

Albert smiled without humor. "I'm a doctor. It's my job."

Farley shook his head. "You know what I mean. You coulda just let me die."

Albert shrugged. "No. I couldn't."

Farley squinted. "Why?"

The young doctor paused for a moment before answering. "I told you, Farley...I treat everyone, regardless of who they are. The Hippocratic Oath doesn't allow for exceptions."


	17. Promises

Haywards, California  
December 1890

"Tommy...Tommy," called Albert softly as his young patient began to stir.

Tommy's eyes fluttered open. He looked around, drowsy and disoriented after the chloroform-induced nap. As his vision cleared he saw Albert bending over him. A tired hand with spread fingers tapped his chin, signing 'mother'.

Albert broke into a smile. It was always a relief when anyone came out of the anesthetic like they were awakening in the morning. Chloroform didn't always work as well on everyone. "She's right here. He's asking for you," he told Sylvia, who sat by her son in a chair.

Quickly Sylvia rose into her son's line of sight. "I'm right here, Tommy."

Tommy licked his dry lips and pointed to his mouth with a questioning look.

Albert nodded. "That's right, Tommy. I fixed your tongue. Try and stick it out."

Tommy knit his brows in confusion, but cautiously lifted his tongue from the bottom of his mouth. Blue eyes widened in surprise at the newfound flexibility, and he was able to stick it out...something he had never been able to do before in his life. It was sore, however, and he pulled it back with a wince.

"I know, Tommy. It's going to be a little sore for a while," said Albert sympathetically. He couldn't help but smile at the success of the operation. "But you know what? Your tongue heals faster than any other part of your body. You'll be feeling better in no time." The young doctor gave Tommy's shoulder a brief squeeze and nodded to Sylvia.

Sylvia finally let out the breath she had been holding for the last two hours and smiled at her little boy, smoothing his hair. "You'll be just fine, Tommy."

It was the second week of December. The time had finally come to clip Tommy's frenulum and free his tongue. With Sylvia acting as nurse and anesthesiologist, the operation itself had taken only fifteen minutes. The tongue had required only four stitches to seal the clip that had been made and would heal in a matter of days. The only reason it had been delayed this long was a simple lack of time on Albert's part after the chaos of Farley's shooting.

Farley, much to his own dismay, recovered quickly. He was taken away in a prisoner transport wagon a mere ten days after being shot. Ownership of his lost businesses reverted back to those who had owned them before he had been elected as mayor. As for the mayorship of Haywards, special elections were held the first week of December. In an ironic twist of fate- or perhaps it was divine justice -the son of an immigrant had been elected; Antonio Bianchi.

As had been suspected by all that knew him, Father Dougherty's wake was as crowded as a wake had ever been. Nearly 900 people passed through to pay their respects to the departed priest. Hearing so many speak well of her husband soothed Annie's troubled soul and she took time to thank every one of them for stopping by.

With John Farley gone, what remained of his paid muscle went into hiding. The vandalism and intimidation at Albert's office had ceased. As a result he was overwhelmed with more patients than ever. Free time became a thing of the past, even on Sundays. Sickness and injury did not observe the Sabbath. Any plans outside of Albert's practice were subject to change without notice and he often squeezed in less than six hours of sleep a night.

Despite his hectic schedule, the young doctor continued to make regular calls on Sylvia's family. Tommy's progress with the sign language had picked up even as Albert made plans to loosen the boy's tongue. He had finally received permission from Sylvia to perform the operation on the last day of November. All that held him back was a lack of time.

Finally, on the eleventh of December, the time had come. Sylvia had left her father under the charge of the Widow Dawson and taken Tommy over to the office first thing in the morning.

Now Albert could not help but feel a sense of pride as he watched mother and son together. Sylvia herself had come a long way over the last few weeks. Perhaps it was Albert's calming influence, perhaps it was the odd Sunday she agreed to go to church with him, or perhaps it was everything that had happened, but she was beginning to change for the better. She shouted less and smiled more at her son, even while most of her time was still taken up in caring for her ailing father. Tommy, too, did not seem nearly as bitter and impatient with his mother.

The only bad news in all of this progress was Hector. December had arrived with fog and drizzles in the morning and scattered clouds in the afternoon. The cold, damp weather did not agree with Hector at all, and he spent most days in bed. Farley's departure and the subsequent voiding of the eviction notice had been only a small comfort. Their ramshackle house was drafty and plagued with six different leaks in the roof. Albert patched them himself in defiance of Sylvia's concerned protests. He was lucky to find the time, but saw it as merely a small favor. Albert only wished that he could do more.

His smile grew strained as he thought of the ailing man. Hector knew he was running out of time. When he was not sleeping or coughing too hard, he spent his days speaking with Sylvia or reading his worn old Bible. Every so often a clergyman would stop by to speak with him. It did not seem to be the dying that worried Hector the most...it was what would happen to his family afterward. Daily he reminded Albert of his promise to take care of Sylvia. The only problem Albert had with that was the fact that he wanted to do more than just take care of Sylvia. He wanted to marry her, to show her love, to show Tommy the love of a father that was sorely lacking in his young life. But he doubted that Sylvia would ever say yes should he pop the question.

"Albert?" Sylvia's call broke into the young doctor's thoughts.

"Hmm?" Albert turned back to her, still in his surgical uniform of sleeve covers and squared off apron. Tommy had since drifted back to sleep. "Yes?"

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said...when you were treating Farley..." Sylvia shrugged. "You could have just let him die and the world would be no worse off. But you didn't. Not everyone would do that."

"I took an oath, Sylvia. When I make a promise, I keep it."

"I know. You've always been like that. You care so much about people that you're willing to sacrifice everything just to help them...even if they don't make it in the end."

Albert sagged on his heels. "You're talking about your father, aren't you?"

Sylvia nodded, her eyes damp. "I know...I know he's not going to live much longer...and there's nothing you can do for him."

Sadly Albert stared at the floor. "All I can do is try and make him comfortable. I only wish I could do more...for him and you."

Sylvia shook her head and reached for Albert's hand. "You don't have to. You've already done so much, and I feel like we can never pay you back."

The urge to ask Sylvia to marry him right then and there rose, but Albert pushed it aside. The timing wasn't right, and it would come off sounding selfish. So Albert only shrugged and sighed. "Don't ever think you have to pay me back." He found her eyes. "I love you."

A sad smile rose on the young woman's face. The hand that Albert still held was given a squeeze. "I love you, too." Brown eyes met brown and stayed there.

The spark that had been kindled when they were fourteen was still there. Almost without thinking Albert lifted his hand and brought it to Sylvia's cheek. Slowly the two of them leaned closer to each other, tilting their heads to opposite sides. At the last minute Sylvia looked away so Albert's lips touched her cheek instead. Albert let his hand drop and he pulled away quickly, feeling foolish. Bad timing, Ingalls. Bad timing. "I'm sorry."

Sylvia blushed and shook her head. "No. It's all right." She returned her gaze to her tired son. "When can he go home?"

Albert followed her gaze and shrugged. "He can go as soon as he's finished waking up. He's small, so it might take another hour or so for the chloroform to finish wearing off." The ringing of the front bell made him frown. "I have to go. I'll be back soon."

Sylvia nodded in understanding. "Go ahead. May I stay with him?"

"Of course," smiled Albert. "See if you can get him to drink some water when he wakes up."

"I will." Sylvia turned back to her son, taking his little hand in hers and waiting for him to open his eyes again.

Tommy finally awoke again fifteen minutes later and in half an hour he was feeling good enough to go home. He tried to tell Albert 'thank you', but his tongue hurt too much and was too new to motion to manage anything more than the 'th' sound. He compromised by signing instead.

In the town, preparations for Christmas were in full swing and had been for quite some time. Toy stores put elaborate displays in the windows, complete with dolls, fake snow, and figures of Santa Claus. Wreaths of holly and evergreen began appearing on front doors. Garlands graced the outside of windows, trimmed with red bows and cranberries. People in an especially festive mood began wearing red scarves, shawls, hats, mittens, and mufflers. Christmas baskets of tinned goods and turkeys were put together for the less fortunate, to be distributed on Christmas Eve. Children frolicked about singing Jingle Bells and bemoaning the fact that there was no snow for Santa Claus to arrive on.

Albert had never been much of a hand at the artistic side of things, so the wreath he made from evergreen clippings turned out to be more of an oval than a circle, and his bow was lopsided. But he hung it on his door anyway. Patients began bringing by boxes of cookies of every description, each one as different and delicious as could be. There were pfeffernusse and lebkuken, springerlie and shortbread. From the Garcias family he received dessert tamales made with raisins and cinnamon. Someone else baked him gingerbread men. And then there was fruitcake of every variety. Spiced, iced, spiked with brandy, loaded with nuts and candied fruit. It seemed in the week leading up to Christmas, every other patient that came in brought some sort of seasonal edible. Every time he tried to politely decline, the little old ladies claimed hurt feelings. Albert made something of a dent in the overabundance of sweets by eating fruitcake for breakfast and a cookie with lunch, but still wondered if by the end of the year his trousers might be a little too tight. Jake the cat was already getting a little tubby from all the table scraps he kept pilfering.

While the town itself was improving almost by the week, Albert's spirits were no higher. Hector's health was in a steady decline. He was completely bedridden by then. Sylvia almost never left his side.

Perhaps it was due to fear, but even after his stitches were removed and his tongue healed, Tommy made little effort to talk. Sylvia worked with him at Albert's urging, showing him which shapes made which sounds and encouraging him to mimic. Through everything Albert was always nearby. He showed his love to the family by continuing to contribute in practical and non-practical ways. He kept them supplied with food and warmth, bringing in a load of wood whenever he could. It tore at his heart to see Hector's suffering and knowing there was nothing to be done about it. Sylvia could see this, and loved him all the more.

Sylvia at first declined the invitation to attend the Christmas Eve service with Albert and Tommy. She didn't like leaving her father alone on holidays. Hector would have wanted to go, of course, but he was simply too ill to leave bed, let alone leave the house. But it was he who insisted that his daughter and grandson attend the service. "High time you took that boy to church," he said, nodding to Tommy.

So it was settled. Annie Dougherty volunteered to stay with Hector for the evening. She would be attending midnight mass and so would be free until then. Albert and Sylvia didn't want to put her through such stress on a holiday especially after losing her husband only a month before, but she insisted. So, at 4:45 PM, Albert came by Sylvia's place to pick up her and Tommy for the service that would begin at 5. They rode double on Red. Albert led them along at an easy walk. Tommy was once again formally attired and had resisted putting on the string tie that his mother had made for him. He even spoke his displeasure.

"Uh-uh," he said, frowning and shaking his head when Sylvia brought out the string tie. Sylvia, while surprised to hear him speak, insisted on the formal wear. Tommy continued to frown all the way to the church.

Reverend Keller was pleased and surprised to see Sylvia and Tommy both present at church. He shook their hands and welcomed them with a smile as the service began.

Sylvia found herself unaccountably affected by both the retelling of the Christmas story and the singing of the carols. Her voice went hoarse during the singing of 'Silent Night' and 'O Come All ye Faithful', and she ended up in quiet tears. Albert tapped her at one point to ask what was wrong. She answered with a smile and shake of her head. It had been a long while since Christmas had held any meaning for her, beyond reminding her of good times that had long ago gone away. By the time the preaching and music portions were over, a new look of peace had come over the young woman's face. Albert knew the look well and didn't have to ask anything further. Sylvia's heart had softened further.

Tommy seemed perplexed by the whole thing and wasn't really animated until the plates of food were brought out. His eyes went round at the sight of so many different kinds of Christmas cookies, breads, and cakes. The sheer number of strangers kept him from sampling something from every tray. Instead he hid behind his mother while she filled a plate for him.

Neither Albert nor Sylvia found they had much of an appetite that evening. Sylvia noticed that the young doctor had not even taken a plate. "Albert? Don't you want anything?"

Albert held a cup of punch in his hands and shook his head. "No. So many sweets have been dropped off at my office that I'm afraid I'll gain ten pounds by the new year," he lamented. "If you'd like any cookies or fruitcake, you're more than welcome to it. I have enough to sink a ship."

Sylvia chuckled lightly and shook her head. Beside her, Tommy munched on a crescent and got powdered sugar all over his fingers and face. "I don't think so. If there were too many cookies at home, Tommy would likely eat them all at once and give himself a stomachache."

Albert nodded, smiling. "You're probably right." His heart warmed watching Sylvia with her son. Both seemed much more at ease now than they had likely been in a long time. The urge to ask a question returned once again...and this time Albert knew if he couldn't work up the courage then, he might never do so. He took a deep breath. "Sylvia...may I ask you a question?"

"Sure," nodded Sylvia.

"I know this isn't exactly the best place...but I'm not sure when I'll have another chance to speak with you alone," he admitted.

"Albert...if this is something personal, then I'd rather you ask me outside," sighed Sylvia.

That would probably be best. Albert nodded in agreement. Tommy was left under the charge of the Widow Dawson for a few minutes while Sylvia and Albert headed for the door. With as occupied as the boy was with a plateful of goodies, he hardly noticed.

Sylvia brought her wrap close about her shoulders as she and Albert stood on the steps of the church. "All right. What did you want to ask me?"

Albert leaned on the rail, choosing his words carefully. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. I've always loved you, and I always will. And I love Tommy, too. He's a good boy."

Sylvia blushed, nodding. "You helped me to see that...and to learn to give him the love he needs. Thank you."

Albert shrugged self-consciously "I didn't do much...but you're welcome." The young doctor moistened his lips and lowered his voice before going on. "Both of you deserve better than that little place at the edge of town. And I don't think it's right that I'm living here comfortably while the people I care about more than anything else are barely making ends meet."

Sylvia's smile faded. She seemed to study the painted railing on the steps of the church.

Albert turned to face her, taking one of her hands in his. "A couple months ago your Pa asked if I'd take care of you and Tommy when he's gone."

Tears filled Sylvia's eyes. She waited a long while before she spoke again. "I don't know why, but I'm not surprised," she admitted. "How do you plan to do that when you're so busy? I know your work is important, and I don't want Tommy or I to interfere with that."

"You won't. Look...I know this is going to seem sudden...and you're probably going to say no, but I'm going to ask anyway." Albert pressed his lips together and took a deep breath, gathering his courage before looking into Sylvia's eyes. "I was thinking...if we got married, then you and Tommy could come live with me. We'd all be together...and I could keep my promise to your Pa."

Sylvia gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Several tears leaked from wide eyes. For a moment she wondered if she was imagining things. A stern look was thrown to Albert. "You...you better not be asking out of pity."

"Sylvia...of course I'm not. I told you I love you and Tommy," said Albert softly. After a moment he shrugged. "If you say no, that's okay. I'm just asking."

"Say no?" Sylvia choked back tears and broke into a watery-eyed smile. "I never thought this could happen... it's something I made myself forget. Are you sure you'd want to? I worked in a saloon. I have son now, and I don't...I don't look like a teenager anymore."

"Of course I want to. Your past doesn't matter. I already told you I love Tommy as much as I love you. And you're just as beautiful as you've always been." Albert reached out and gently brushed one of her tears away with his thumb. "What do you say?"

Albert's gentleness only made more tears come. Sylvia choked back her sobs. "Oh Albert, I don't deserve you...I never could...if you honestly mean it, then ask me again."

The young doctor cupped Sylvia's cheeks in his hands with a sigh. "Will you marry me, Sylvia Webb?"

Tears that were part disbelief, part longing, and part joy streamed down Sylvia's cheeks as she nodded. "Yes. I will."

Albert's heart soared. A smile of relief spread across his face and he wrapped his arms around his weeping fiancée. His own eyes were almost as watery. "Shh, don't cry."

Sylvia clung to him. "I'm crying because I'm happy...so happy. How can this be real?"

Albert found his own eyes watering as he held the woman he loved. "I guess...I guess I'm wondering the same thing," he admitted. He rested his chin on Sylvia's soft brown hair and kissed the top of her head.

Suddenly Sylvia flinched. "Oh, but Papa...and Tommy, what will they think?"

Albert grew somewhat sheepish. "I'm not so worried about your Pa. It's Tommy I don't know about." He kissed her cheek. "Want me to ask him? We can ask your Pa when I take you home."

Sylvia finally smiled and nodded. "I'd like that."

Tommy's reaction to his mother's engagement seemed to be surprised agreement. He had been looking to Albert to fix things at home, though he wasn't expecting to be getting a Pa out of the bargain.

What none of them was expecting upon their arrival at home was a frantic Widow Dawson. Hector was worse than ever and weakening almost by the minute. With a worried Sylvia and wide-eyed Tommy looking on, Albert bared Hector's chest to listen to his heart and lungs. With a sinking heart he pulled the stethoscope away.

Hector's pulse was weak. His breathing was labored and shallow and punctuated by ineffective coughs. There was nothing else Albert could do. Slowly he pulled the earpieces from his ears and laid down the instrument. He was hating himself as he turned to Sylvia and shook his head.

Sylvia clung to Tommy, tears of a very different kind rolling off her nose.

"S...Sylvie," wheezed Hector, bleary eyes searching for his daughter. "Where's...my S-Sylvie?"

"I'm here, Papa," answered Sylvia, leaning over him.

"Sylvie...don't cry, girl..." Weakly Hector reached for his daughter. His next sentence was interrupted by a long and sustained bout of painful coughing. When at last it was through he rested his hand on Sylvia's cheek. "I'm...s-sorry I was...s-so hard on you...made you...'fraid a' me. Truth is...I love you, girl."

The young woman nodded and held her father's hand. "I love you, too, Papa."

Hector could only manage a slight smile as he let go of Sylvia's cheek and reached for his grandson. "Tommy...you take...care o' your...ma...y'hear?" He smoothed Tommy's thick blond mop with a shaking hand.

Tommy had never been touched so tenderly by his grandfather before in his life. The resentment was gone from his eyes as he signed to the old man.

Albert smiled through his watering eyes when Hector asked for a translation. "He said 'yes, Grandpa.'"

Another weak smile touched Hector's face as he continued to stroke the top of Tommy's head. Then he was wracked by another series of coughs. When the fit was over, he turned to Albert. "Ingalls...Doc...y' made...me a...promise."

Albert nodded. "I remember."

"Take...care o'...Sylvia n'...th' boy...y' promised," rasped Hector.

"I will, Mr. Webb. I will," Albert promised again. "I swear."

"Keep it...proper, Ingalls," Hector coughed.

"We will, Papa. We're going to get married," said Sylvia with a sad smile. "If it's all right."

Even as his frail body was wracked by another series of weakening coughs, Hector found a way to smile and nod. "Married...my Silvie's...gettin' married..." Each breath grew weaker than the last. Each cough was a struggle. His eyes grew unsteady, and he could no longer speak. Then the rattling stopped. Every muscle went limp. Hector's eyes filled with a momentary light before they faded completely.

Not wanting it to be true, Albert checked for a pulse one last time. There was none. He let his hand fall and his head hang low, letting out a shuddering breath.

Sylvia was shaking with emotion as she lowered her head to Hector's shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Papa..."

It was simultaneously the worst and best Christmas Eve Albert could remember. He was engaged to the love of his life...on the same night that her father died. Helplessly he could only hold Sylvia as she cried.

Amid the sorrow, Tommy looked frightened and uncertain. Presently he tapped his mother's shoulder. "M...Mmm-Ma?" he sputtered.

Sylvia's head snapped up and she turned to Tommy in surprise.

The boy spoke slowly, sounding out the words carefully. "G...Gran...pa...i...in...H-Hea...ven?"

Sylvia and Albert regarded each other with wide eyes before turning to stare at Tommy. Finally Albert broke into a slight, heartbroken smile. He nodded. "Yes, Tommy. Grandpa is in Heaven."

Simultaneously overjoyed and heartbroken, Sylvia rose to catch her son in a tight embrace.


	18. Epilogue

Haywards, California  
May 1891

The little Methodist church was as crowded as Reverend Keller had ever seen it. It was certainly the most crowded it had ever been for a wedding. Such numbers were entirely unexpected by bride, groom, and pastor. While it was the marriage of the town doctor, it was also a marriage in which one of the parties had had a child out of wedlock. This was greeted with raised eyebrows...but at least now the bride would be respectable.

Reverend Keller had no such thoughts as he waited at the pulpit that warm Saturday afternoon. He knew the bride and groom and could not think of a couple better suited to each other. He knew and rejoiced in the miracle of Tommy's newfound speech, as well as at least some of the long journey that Albert and Sylvia had gone on. Clearly God had a hand in bringing them back together.

Albert shifted about uncomfortably in his freshly ironed suit and starched shirt. While he was happy to see his parents and youngest sister present in the front row- Ma sniffling and dabbing her eyes every five minutes -the room was warm and everything was just a little late.

Holding a pillow with the ring, Tommy looked just as uncomfortable. Presently the little boy turned to his future father with a look of pleading in his eyes. Balancing the pillow in the crook of his elbow, he discreetly finger-spelled 'When?'

Albert had to smile at the boy and finger-spelled 'soon' in reply, at which point Tommy sighed. Albert winked at him.

Then the organist began to play the Wedding March. The attendees rose to their feet and turned to look down the aisle.

Albert craned his neck to see...and was rendered speechless. Sylvia, wearing a long ivory dress and her favorite yellow daisies in her hair, was at once beaming and fighting tears. When the couple locked eyes, everything else faded away. Albert put a ring on her finger and made a promise to stay with her for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and until parted by death. Sylvia made the same promise to Albert.

Then, at last, Reverend Keller pronounced them man and wife. "You may now kiss the bride," he said with a smile.

Sylvia beamed as Albert took a step toward her. They kissed to the sound of applause, then turned to face the attendees as Mr. and Mrs. Albert Ingalls. Then they made their exit. By the time they reached the foyer, Sylvia was crying again.

"You okay?" whispered Albert. Sylvia was probably missing her father.

"Yes...oh yes," she assured him, smiling and wiping her eyes. She leaned into his embrace. "Kiss me, my love."

Albert willingly obliged. The pair was interrupted by the stampede of small feet coming out the door. The next moment, Tommy dashed up to them and tugged on Albert's jacket. "What, Tommy?" smiled Albert.

"Are...you my...Pa?" he asked slowly.

"Only if you want me to be," said Albert carefully. He still wasn't sure how the boy would react to having him around all the time. He had been rather lukewarm about the whole idea. When Tommy finally nodded, Albert laughed and lifted the boy into his arms.

Tommy smiled and wrapped an arm around each of his parent's necks. Never in his whole life had he ever felt as loved as he did in that moment.

THE END

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 _ **A/N: And there you have it, the mushiest ending to a Little House AU ever! Hope you've all enjoyed this revised version, and thank you all so much for reading, favorite-ing, and commenting.**_

 _ **Many have asked for Laura/Almanzo fanfics, and I must decline. As Laura Ingalls Wilder and Almanzo were real people whose actual life has been well-documented, I've chosen not to put them into my FanFics except as minor characters or in passing mention. Other characters who are based on real people- like the rest of the Ingalls family -are written only as the TV show would depict them.**_


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